International
by rioludoodle
Summary: Mostly a collection of loosely related fluffy and funny one-shots barely connected by any sort of underlying plot. Wait, isn't that what Hetalia is? Anyway, this is mostly a dumping ground for the ideas floating around in my head. I like to think it's enjoyable because it's sweet, and a little funny, and sometimes sad. As far as I know, my reviewers agree.
1. Meeting of the World

**AN: **_International_ is mostly acting as a dumping ground for the Hetalia one-shots running around in my head. I'm going to do my best to string them all together in a somewhat coherent plot involving international relations and the bonds (or lack thereof) of our favorite nations. I think I'm mostly going to be focusing on Japan/Kiku Honda, China/Yao Wang, and America/Alfred F. Jones. Just 'cause those three are my favorites (though not necessarily in that order) and I love them all to death. ^^ Others are going to be in the story though, of course.

But, just so everything's clear, I HAVE NO IDEA HOW POLITICS WORK AND HARDLY ANY GRASP ON THE CURRENT STATE OF WORLD AFFAIRS. Any reference made to current events or government is just my best interpretation, and I don't mean to offend. For this reason, I'm largely going to stay away from that stuff if possible.

Oh, and I don't own Hetalia either, just in case you were wondering. ^^

* * *

_**Meeting of the World**_

To most people, it was a slightly cloudy, fairly breezy, late-summer day in New York City that was notable for nothing at all. Except for the sudden and unexpected influx of official-looking and somewhat foreign-sounding people. All headed to the New York City UN building. It was a complete surprise that had the media curious. Several news groups had already broadcast reports about a large total of United Nations representatives (because what else could they be when they were all heading to the UN building?) having gathered in New York unexpectedly. No one seemed to know anything other than the fact that they were representatives of nations.

The media didn't know how literally right they were.

* * *

To the government leaders of the world, it was a day of phone calls, messages, and headaches as they suddenly realized that their nations, living representations of their countries, had all gone off and disappeared from their homes. When it was discovered that every one of them had packed up and bought plane tickets to New York City of the USA, international threats and questions (more of the former than the latter) had suddenly calmed down for all of five minutes while leaders argued with their advisers, before it all abruptly grew even more hectic than before.

The White House fielded at least a dozen calls demanding to know what was happening in New York before an international video conference was set up. The President of the United States of America, at his desk in the Oval Office, was doing his best to appear calm and serious through the oncoming migraine of frustration. He put a professional expression on his face and squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath. He let it out slowly.

The little light on the webcam blinked green, multiple live videos of people appeared on screen, and the President of the United States looked directly into the lens.

"Why is-"

"-New York of all places-"

"We demand to know-"

"-happened? Concern-"

The President held up his hands in a gesture of peace. The questions and accusations died down to let him reply, and reply he did. "I don't know any more than you do. All that I can confirm is that the countries of the world have gathered in New York City for a surprise summit. One of their 'World Conferences'. Only this one hasn't been scheduled. Given the distance between them that has arisen between them this past decade, it's even more surprising."

An exasperated expression flitted across his face and he said with a frown. "I'm pretty sure that Alfred, America, that is, has something to do with this though."

There was a pause of silence, and then the leader of China spoke. "How you know this?"

The others nodded, agreeing with the question.

The President, having expected the very same question, tapped a button on the keyboard. His image on the video conference was replaced by a video pause screen. He clicked, and it began playing.

[VIDEO PLAY]

A female newscaster with short, dark hair and a grey suit on sat behind a wooden desk. The camera was on her face.

"A sudden and unexpected influx of foreign government officials has occurred here in New York. They are all headed to the UN building for some sort of meeting, which they call a 'World Conference' or a 'Meeting of the World'. Interviews with several national representatives reveal little besides conspiracy, as you will see."

-o-o-o-

A shakier, lower-quality cut of footage appeared and replaced the newcaster's stream.

An Asian man in a dark suit and grey tie stood at a straight-backed posture, with his arms held stiffly at his side. His black hair was cut in something similar to a bowl-style, and his bangs were slightly side-swept. The UN building was in the background. It was Japan. He had a nervous expression on his face, and a slight, panicked tremble and stutter accompanied his accented words.

"I-I don't think- that is, I'm not allowed to s-say. Ah, the World Conference, we are... ah, having emergency - no, it is surprise Meeting of the World."

An offscreen reporter asked. "What's the 'Meeting of the World', Mr. Honda? You say it's the same thing as this 'World Conference'. What's the purpose of this meeting? Why haven't we heard of it before? This is a complete surprise!"

"I-, ah, I-... Thank you for your time, I must be going now. Goodbye!" He hurriedly bowed, grabbed a briefcase from offscreen, and then turned around to rush towards the UN building with a cloud of dust trailing behind him.

-o-o-o-

The footage changed again, to a higher quality video with a female reporter and a blond-haired man in a blue suit.

"Ahonhon!" He chuckled. It was obvious that he was French. "Cherie, _I,_ Francis Bonnefoy, am here to represent _France _at the World Conference. It came as a spur of the moment kind of thing, no? But of course, we representatives of the G8 approved it. Nothing gets past us, _moi_ especially."

"Who suggested this 'World Conference' event? Why haven't we heard of this before, Mr. Bonnefoy? And who are you new representatives? No one's heard of you before!" The reporter held a microphone out to France for his answer.

He replied while twirling a strand of hair around a finger, enjoying every moment of attention. "Well, the Conference notion was put forward by _mon ami_ Alfred Jones years ago. He is the... representative of your country at the Meetings of the World. And please, _mademoiselle_, call me Francis."

He winked flirtatiously at the reporter, much to her annoyance. "Once again, Francis, I'd like to know why we've never heard of this World Conference. And when you say 'Meetings of the World' do you mean to imply that there have been more of these gatherings in the past that no one knew about?"

"We~ell... There have been meetings in the past." France said, slightly nervous now. He tried to do a bit of damage control, which really just made things worse. "We usually have these annually, but _this_ one is a surprise summit arranged by Alfred, _oui_. We are discussing approval for another proposal of his, and _I_, for one, am looking forward to it. I have relations with England that could be helped along-"

The French representative was interrupted with a smack to the back of his head from a short, thick-eyebrowed man in military-green who rushed on-screen.

"Shut it, Frog!" The blond newcomer shouted with a heavy English accent. Then, he turned to the reporter and the camera crew. "And sod off, you bloody vultures! If we want to answer your bloody questions, we'll have a bloody press conference!"

He grabbed 'Francis Bonnefoy' by the ear and dragged him towards the UN building in the background.

-o-o-o-

A blond-haired man in a beret and military uniform was stalking towards the UN building, holding something in front of him against his chest, though what it was wasn't visible from behind. The camera wobbled shakily as the cameraman and another reporter on-screen kept moving to follow him.

"Excuse me, sir! We'd like to know why you and the other representatives are here!" The reporter called out.

The man stopped abruptly and spun around, revealing what appeared to be a _rifle_ in his hands. The camera's viewpoint suddenly backtracked, though the reporter dared to go closer. A response was shouted with an irritated expression.

"I'm here because I'm the representative of Switzerland at the World Conference. I don't know why it's happening off schedule, I'm not naming myself or other representatives, and I'm not telling you what it is. I'm licensed to carry this in fifteen countries and I have diplomatic immunity, so scat!"

He pumped the barrel of his rifle.

[VIDEO END]

Swizterland's leader sweat-dropped at the expressions on the others' faces and shrugged. "You all know as well as I do that we can't control our nations."

The President of the USA sighed as his image came back onscreen with the end of the video. "I think the best course of action is to just wait until the nations come back to their homes and ask them then. Are we all in agreement?"

"Hai."

"Yes."

"Oui."

"Da."

"Muy bien."

The many sections of the screen blacked out one by one as everyone agreed. The President sighed, and reached for a bottle of aspirin.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a large meeting room at the UN building, almost every country invited had arrived and taken a seat at a long table. At the head of the table, nearest the speaking podium and microphone, were the G8 minus Canada and plus China. In short, the old Axis and Allies teams. For old enemies and long-time frenemies, they were actually fairly peaceful. Actually, they were unusually, unexpectedly peaceful.

Seated in the middle of the old WWII group were America and Germany. Germany was silent, stiff, and stoic as always. What was surprising was the fact that America was acting the same. Albeit with a small grin and a super-sized cup of soda-pop. On Germany's other side, of course, was Italy. Rather than singing about pasta, though, the nation was scribbling pasta recipes on a few sheets of paper. On the other side of Italy was England, and on the other side of England was France. However, despite their history and their encounter outside the building, neither was arguing. Instead, France was leafing through a magazine while England surfed the internet on an iPhone.

On the other side of America, Japan was hunched over a notebook with a pencil in hand, rapidly working on a doujinshi. Sitting on Japan's other side was China, sitting straight-backed and formal in his chair, though he did have on a pair of headphones connected to a music player. To China's left was Russia, who simply sat there in his thick overcoat and scarf, doing nothing in particular. Besides smiling, which had gained him more elbow room already.

The rest of the room was filled with chatter as old acquaintances found each other and spoke. It was loud and lively, though not nearly as much as it was ten years ago. More formal and official nowadays. Korea wasn't claiming inventions, the Europeans weren't at each other's throats, and Switzerland had only threatened to bludgeon two countries with his peace prize. Prussia wasn't even in the air vents.

A digital watch changed to read 11:00. America stood up and cheerfully announced. "Welcome to the surprise awesome World Conference, fellow countries! Just sit down and pay attention, and we can get started!"

The nations complied immediately.

Germany came to a sudden realization. _'This isn't right.' _He thought to himself. _'Usually, we use several air horns, firecrackers, or America lifts and slams the table to get a meeting started. Even if everyone is curious as to what this is about (I know I am...), things shouldn't calm so quickly. They never did ten years ago... Ten years ago... We were all so close then. Have we really become so distant?'__  
_

His thoughts were interrupted by America stepping up to the podium. The young nation spoke with his usual happy tone. "Alright, I bet you're all wondering why I called an emergency summit. Am I right?"

There were murmurs of assent and much nodding, along with one shout of "Get on with it!"

"Well, it's because we have an emergency." The smile dropped off of his face and America's expression suddenly turned serious. Everyone was suddenly paying more attention. Probably because things had to be _really _bad if America of all people was being serious.

The host of the conference continued. "We have an emergency, and it's been happening for the past ten years. We aren't talking to each other anymore. It started slowly, but it's been growing, and it's gotten to be a big, fat issue. I noticed it five years ago, on this day, but I thought it would blow over. Obviously, it hasn't!" At the skeptical expressions he met with, America asked. "Have any of you noticed? Do you know what could happen if you have? I bet Germany does."

At the prompt, Germany stood. He himself was slightly uncertain and more than a little disturbed by the fact that he hadn't realized until that very day (not that he'd admit it). He wouldn't admit it though, and spoke with a stern expression and firm voice. "I've noticed. And looking at this, it is very possible that alliances and trade will eventually fall apart. If that happens, a nation could take advantage and build another empire before they could be stopped."

He sat back down.

Nervous glances from every corner of the room were directed at Russia, who merely blinked in surprise at the revelation.

America took the spotlight again. "Yes, that could happen. And a lot of friendships could be broken. But right now, we can fix things before they get bad- if we get out of the shells we've built ourselves."

Poland raised his elegantly manicured hand and shouted. "What the heck do you mean by shells? I think we're perfectly sociable!"

There was a large murmur of assent.

"I think I mean a lot of things, Poland." America said determinedly. He began listing. "Your crossdressing and Twitter account."

Poland lowered his hand.

"Britain's extreme Doctor Who obsession."

England stiffened.

"France's tabloid problem."

France hid a magazine behind his back and tried to look nonchalant.

"Japan's doujinshi. Especially that Hetalia thing he's publishing."

Japan, startled, dropped his notebook on the floor.

"Russia's snow garden."

Russia merely blinked again.

"Italy's recipe issue."

Italy let go of his pencil.

"China's new pop music fetish."

China tucked a music player away in one of his overly long sleeves.

"Switzerland's border OCD- you know what, he's always been like that with the neutrality thing, never mind."

Switzerland picked up his rifle again and looked pointedly in America's direction.

America continued. "Anyway, the point is, over the past ten years we've all just stopped talking to each other and gotten wrapped up in our own hobbies. Not to say that they're bad, they're just taking over our lives a little. Some countries, like me and Germany, seem to be fine, but I think we _all_ need to be more social with each other again! Just hang out and stuff, like we used to! We'll have monthly meetings to check up on everything!"

Spain raised his hand and said. "So, basically, amigo, you're staging an intervention?"

"Yup!" Was the happy-go-lucky reply.

Very few nations resisted the urge to face-palm.

* * *

**AN: **I apologize for the pure ludicrousy that is this first chapter. I really needed a reason for everyone to be stuck hanging out with each other more often and have more frequent summits. This was the best I could come up with. Plus, this way, I get to give little quirks to everyone! ^^

I also apologize for any political incorrectness or offense I might have caused. Though what you're doing on Hetalia fanfiction if you're easily offended is beyond me, moron.


	2. Meeting of the World cont

**AN: **As is the case with all my stories, this probably won't update regularly.

* * *

_**Meeting of the World (Continued)**_

The room began shouting at America, who kept grinning through it all from his standing position at the podium.

"I'm fine as is!"

"Give it a break, there's nothing wrong with me!"

"I just want to go home, this is a waste of time!"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada..."

Germany grew more and more frustrated with every second of chaos. The shouts, the stomping, the _noise_... It was eating through his patience the way America and Italy went through hamburgers and pasta, respectively. He didn't think he could take it for much longer. Especially considering all the little ways they were proving America right even while they screamed that he was wrong.

_'For once the world is united in protest, and yet each country says 'I' and 'me' instead of 'we'. They don't include even the closest of allies... I'm certain this was different ten years ago.' _Germany tightened his jaw and clenched his hands into fists. _'All while hiding their obsessions behind their backs. Literally.'_

He watched Japan tuck his notebook into a briefcase and attempt to covertly slide it behind his chair.

Germany couldn't take it anymore. "ALRIGHT!" He shouted, slamming a fist on the table. "THAT IS ENOUGH!"

He stood and moved to the podium, where America stepped back to let him lecture. Germany glanced at the still-smiling nation behind him and then looked back at the temporarily quieted crowd in denial. He spoke.

"As much as I hate to admit it, America is right. We are cutting ourselves off from the world. We do need to... socialize... more." He ground out those last few words. "We need to re-take the opportunities to simply be... friends with one another. _Nein_, we need to re-take our lives from the usually harmless activities that they have become satellites to. As Spain put it..."

Germany almost shuddered to quote the fellow country "This is an intervention."

One of the Baltic Nations, Latvia probably, asked in the silence. "How do you suggest we do that?"

Germany froze. He'd be the first to admit that he was no expert on socializing. He kept to his small, modern(read: WWII) circle of of friends and only went to large events that he was expected to. For once, the stern nation with a gift for speech was at a loss for words. The crowd suddenly seemed a lot more frightening when he didn't know what to say. He was almost grateful to be shoved out of the way. Almost.

America took over center stage. He optimistically exclaimed. "That's the easy part! Just hang out and talk with your old friends like we all used to, and I'm sure we'll all be back to normal in no time!"

He was met with silence.

"Well, we can start with a lunch break! There's a cafeteria downstairs and everyone except England's free to use the kitchen, I'm sure the UN won't mind after we give their building back!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, China, France, and the Italy brothers were alternately cooking and serving their own cultural cuisine for any of the countries who'd chosen to actually eat in the cafeteria instead of going out to find a restaurant in New York. The three chefs stuck to their own sections of the kitchen and serving window, avoiding contact or conflict with each other, even though it limited what they could cook.

China still had his headphones on, and his head occasionally bobbed to an unheard beat. Italy, between serving and cooking, obsessively wrote down excessively detailed recipes for the various kinds of pasta he was making. Romano, scowling, was bending down to wipe something off his shoes every ten seconds. And France, rather than pouting at the fact that more people were going to China and the Italies instead of himself, simply read through a disreputable tabloid magazine with America's whale and Tony on the cover.

The cafeteria wasn't much better. The circular tables were large enough for a dozen people or so, but the nations seemed more content to sit by themselves if they could, or on opposite sides if they couldn't. Only one group sat together, and that was the G8 minus those who were cooking.

England was arguing with everyone else at the table, even though no one was arguing back.

"Maybe you bloody gits have issues like those bloody comic books and the bloody snow thing and the bloody maple syrup, but I'll have you know that _Doctor Who_ is a national pastime in my country! It is _NOT_ a bloody obsession, and it is _NOT _a bloody problem!"_  
_

Germany muttered under his breath while trying to enjoy a plate of pasta. "I think you have a 'bloody' problem with your 'bloody' language."

Japan just nodded as he sipped a spoonful of miso soup.

Canada quietly took small bites of a vanilla cake with maple syrup drizzled on it.

America wasn't paying attention. Instead, he opted to look around the cafeteria, trying to see someone, anyone at all, talking to someone else.

Russia smiled childishly and said "Da."

That shut England up. The Brit wasn't willing to admit to anything though, and instead plugged a set of earbuds into his iPhone and listened to a _Doctor Who_ soundtrack as he got up and left. He was muttering about finding a cafe. Canada followed him, though no one noticed. By that point, most everyone had scarfed down their lunches and done the same, leaving one by one.

"I just don't get it." America slumped on the table and whined. "I thought getting everyone to lunch together would fix things and make everyone be friends again. Instead, all I see is this."

He gestured to the cafeteria, which was empty of anyone besides themselves. The kitchen was too, as both France and the Italies had taken their lunches to be eaten outside. Actually, the room wasn't completely devoid of other people. China was making his way over to their table with a small bowl of fried rice and chopsticks in hand. The nation of four thousand years sat down next to Germany, headphones still on, though at low volume.

Russia, trying to be helpful, made a suggestion even. "Maybe peoples just need good reason to join together. Motivation. Like nuclear winter. Da?"

America suddenly sat up, cheerful again. He snapped his fingers and exclaimed to his friends. "That's it!" You could practically see the light bulb blinking above Nantucket. "I can't believe I'm saying this as the Hero, but Russia actually had a good idea!"

The two ex-Axis Powers at the table had miniature panic attacks and their faces turned pale while Russia sat there looking content.

"A-America-san!" Japan said. "You cannot be serious!"

Germany added. "Nuclear winter?! Mein gott, that is extreme, don't you think?!"

"What?" America replied, affronted. "No, not the nuke thing! I meant motivation! Giving everyone a good reason to work together and talk to each other again! Why would you think I meant the nukes?!"

The words _'Cold War'_ flashed through both Japan's and Germany's minds, but neither said them aloud. Instead, they simultaneously responded. "No reason."

China said "Tch." in skepticism and light amusement. He took off the headphones to listen more closely to the rest of the conversation.

_'It's a very good thing that America hasn't snapped like Russia.' _Germany thought with a sigh of relief.

"Anyway, America-kun." Japan said, moving on. "What were you saying about motivation?" He took another sip of his soup.

"Oh, yeah! The Hero's gonna save the day with my awesome idea!" America exclaimed. He grinned even wider than usual and then shouted it aloud. The words that came out of his mouth next caused a variety reactions in everyone else, except for Russia. Japan spewed soup on the table. China choked on his rice. And Germany began to believe he'd thought too soon.

"Let's start World War III!"

* * *

**AN: **So, any thoughts or opinions on this chapter? This story? Seriously, I'll take anything here.


	3. World War III

**AN: **Enjoy the funny little cliffie at the end of the last chapter? ^^ I hope so, cause it really didn't last too long now, did it?

* * *

**_World War III_**

_Japan spewed soup on the table. China choked on his rice. And Germany began to believe he'd thought too soon._

_"Let's start World War III!"_

America cheered. His idea was absolutely brilliant, after all. It would both give a bonding experience to him and his friends at the table _and_ give all the other nations a reason to quit shutting themselves in. His awesome idea had to be the best idea ever. It was an amazing idea. Then, he noticed the expressions on his friends faces.

"Wait wait wait, I don't mean an _actual _war!" He flapped his arms about rapidly, as if that'd help make his point. "I mean a paintball war!"

The expressions of Germany and the two Asian nations went from horrified terror to exasperated irritation in all of half a second. Japan quickly regained his calm composure and repositioned himself formally. China put his hands on his hips and glared out of annoyance. Germany just face-palmed. It was exactly the type of suggestion to be expected from America, after all.

"Idiot!" China shouted, his accent heavily exaggerating each syllable. "How that gonna help? Useless! Just like ridiculous bomber jacket, aru."

Germany added. "I don't see how paintball would help anything either. Nein, not at all."

Japan, politely quiet as always, said. "I agree with America-san because-"

"It's a tied vote! Russia's the decider!" America announced cheerfully.

"Since when were we voting?" Germany asked, frustrated.

No one responded. Mostly because all the attention was on Russia, whose lips were still curled up in that child-like smile everyone was so terrified of. The mostly gentle giant tilted his head to the side as he fake-thought. He didn't have to think about it for real because he'd already made the decision. It just seemed right to make a show of deciding. And he enjoyed the attention.

"Da. America is right. World War III is very good idea." He turned his head to look America in the eyes. Russia smiled as he continued, and a dark aura seemed to surround him as he spoke sweetly and slowly. "But you knew my decision long time ago, no? You know I know how you think. And now I know you know. We learned much about each other during World War and Cold War, no? Same should happen to other countries, da? We all can bond. Da, war creates bonds."

Everyone was suddenly on the opposite side of the table. And staring.

"Okay..." America somewhat nervously gave Russia a friendly smile. "Dude, ya know you're freakin' scary when you talk like that, da?"

The small joke made Russia chuckle. The frightening darkness disappeared and the nations settled back into their previous seats.

"Da. How are we going to wage paintball war?"

America was suddenly gone in a blur, the cafeteria doors still swung open from his rush outside. Then, before they could even swing closed again, the enthusiastic young nation rushed back in with his cargo. Or, more accurately, the nine, five-foot tall, grey, dense, plastic crates were shoved through, making the double doors swing inward. They barreled into the cafeteria like a freight train without wheels and pushed any tables in the way to the side before crashing into the concrete wall. At the end of the line of crates, hanging onto the last one, America ground his heels against the floor and skidded to a stop with the crate, keeping it slightly separate from the others.

Germany blinked. He'd forgotten how often America impressed with his capability for both strength and utter ludicrousy.

Japan, even after years of acting almost as much of a shut-in as he used to be, still retained his slight immunity to his best friend's frequent and frequently outlandish stunts. And so, he recovered first.

"America, are those...?" He didn't need to finish the question.

America kicked the top off the separate crate and pulled out two things, immediately tossing both to Japan. The island nation on the receiving end of the heavy throw caught both deftly, and was barely surprised at all to see a white gun holder and a paintball gun shaped like an AK-47 in his hands. What he was surprised to see was the fake katana that was gently set in his arms.

Japan looked up from the items to see America standing in front of him, decked out in his old WWII tan-colored military fatigues with his gun holster over them and identical gun stuck in it's holster. The ever-familiar bomber jacket that he'd had on before was gone, probably because it was likely to be ruined by paint.

"That fake sword is a replica of the one you had on that island we fought on during World War II." America happily explained. "It's actually a blow-gun that takes the same paint pellets as these guns."

The nation moved on to Germany and handed him an identical vest and paintball gun, along with a rifle. "A fake like Japan's katana, but this one fires like a regular gun."

He rushed back to the crate, then to China, giving the ancient Asian country both the standard equipment and a wok. Yes, a wok. The look on the Asian Nation's face was dumbfounded. "You already know how this works!" He laughed, patting China on the back.

America turned around to get more things from the crate, only to see Russia had beaten him to it. He was examining the contents with a thoughtful look on his face. There was a plethora of holsters and regular paintball guns, as expected, but there were also pieces of specialized equipment that must've taken a while to make. He could see an pirate-y looking shotgun probably meant for England, a white, full-body cloth covering that he could only assume was for convincing France that he clothes wouldn't get ruined, and-

He reached in with one arm and pulled out a very good replica of his own waterpipe. It wasn't shaped for paint pellets and it was made of a soft rubber that still held some weight to it, so he assumed it was for knocking away close-range offenders. Yes, this specialized equipment would've taken time to make. Had America planned this? Or had it all been sitting in storage somewhere in case the ridiculous situation it would've been needed came up? It was hard to tell with America sometimes.

Russia absentmindedly grabbed his own white holster and black gun with his other hand while still examining the replica waterpipe.

"This is very nice." He said, looking up from the pipe to America.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" America laughed that ridiculous laugh of his and walked up to the crate. "You think that's good, just wait till you see these!"

He dove in and rummaged around on the bottom of the crate, before coming back up holding lumpy piles of cloth. He picked one up and tossed it to China, who upon examination, exclaimed. "This is replica of old World War outfit! Identical, aru!"

The others had their own by that point, and America said. "I figure if it's World War III, we might as well have something familiar! Plus, this way we can tell ourselves apart from the enemy after we arm them!"

"We're seriously doing this, aren't we?" Germany grumbled with grudging resignation.

* * *

"How are we doing this? We have no plan, da."

"I having second thoughts, aru."

"America-san, how do we even know the others will take part in this paintball war?"

"The plan is to bust in and kick butt, with me as the Hero! And I'm sure everyone's gonna join 'cause there's still plenty of grudges under the shut-in isolation!"

"Just like World War II then, aru?"

"Yeah! Except this time we'll break Germany's losing streak!"

"What do you mean by losing streak?!"

"Da, you have losing streak in World Wars. Your side never wins."

"Hey!"

"This would make an excellent doujinshi..."

"Aru..."

"Charge, in 3! 2! 1!"

* * *

In the conference room, everyone except for a notable chunk of the G8 was gathered. At first, they'd tried awkwardly socializing, but due to lack of effort on every side, it had quickly degenerated into awkward standing around in old groups of friends.

France, even while looking at a magazine, asked England. "Where do you think they are? They're late."

England responded with half-lidded eyes while reading an online article from his phone. "I don't really know, and I don't really care. I don't need a bloody intervention."

_SMACK!_

One set of double doors suddenly burst open and hit the wall as America kicked them open. The North American nation dragged in a line of crates and shoved them in random directions, sending them sliding along the floor as they barreled between groups of Nations. One was thrown and landed smack-dab in the middle of the table. Everyone's attention was drawn to the front of the room again as four other countries ran in. China, Russia, Germany, and Japan. They were all wearing outfits identical to the ones they wore in WWII, Japan even with a katana on his belt, and each of them carried guns.

"We declare World War III!" America exclaimed.

He aimed the gun and fired with one hand. A splotch of red appeared dead-center on France's forehead, splattering England with flecks of the substance as France toppled backwards onto the floor in slow-motion, his eyes unfocused.

The Nations gaped in shock.

Then, France leaped back to his feet. "What is this?!" He shouted angrily.

"World War III!" America exclaimed again, a cheery expression now on his face.

"With paintball guns." Japan added.

China waved a sleeve in gesture towards the crates. "There's more in those."

Everything was silent for a moment that seemed to last forever. Then, Switzerland clambered onto the table and hopped inside the crate there, waving Liechtenstein to join him. After his sister crawled inside, Switzerland grabbed a paintball gun and fired at the ground. He made a splattered circle of white paint with a five-foot radius from the crate.

"I declare neutrality! Everyone who attempts to cross my border will be shot down with equal discrimination!"

Germany shouted. "Well, what are the rest of you _idioten _waiting for?!"

Silence.

Russia smiled and stated matter-of-factly. "You have one minute to arm yourselves and make teams before we begin, da."

It was chaos as people rushed to reach the nearest crate and agreed to hasty new alliances that looked a lot like old alliances. Korea claimed the invention of the paintball gun, Italy rushed to Germany and begged until he was handed a gun from the crate behind the Axis/Allies Alliance, and the Nordics captured their very own crate in the corner. Canada, unnoticed by everyone else, snuck over to his brother and politely asked if he could join their team. He was handed a paintball gun and another holster.

France and Spain joined Austria and Hungary and together they captured the crate nearest the Nordic Alliance. England, resisting the urge to join a team against France, followed the four and together they created the European Alliance.

Now, this is a bit of simple math here. There are nine crates. One belongs to the Axis/Allies Alliance at the front of the room. One is captured by the Nordics, who renewed their own alliance. One, near the Nordics, is captured by the European Alliance, who squabbled over it in their own time-tested method of arguing is sharing is caring. And, of course, one is claimed by Liechtenstein and her older brother, and no one is stupid enough to challenge trigger-happy Switzerland for it.

One + one + one + one = four

Nine - four = five

Of the five crates left scattered around the room, one was claimed by an alliance of seven African nations. Another was captured by a tentative South/Central American Alliance. The third was being defended by an alliance between the Baltic Trio, several Asian countries, and Australia. The last two crates were being pillaged by competing Middle East Nations and random others, who grabbed what they could and ran.

One + one + one + two = five

Five - five = zero

* * *

China, with all his four thousand years of wisdom, observed the chaos and thought to himself. _'Aiyah, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Everyone has become shut-ins and isolated, as America said. But they all are still same people. Same petty, childish people. Make me feel old.'_

Then, he proceeded to rapidly push the buttons on his music player and created a playlist of suitable pop songs for the war to come. He jacked in the red headphones around his neck and tugged them around his ears. China pumped the barrel of his paintball gun, fingered the rim of his wok, and glared defiantly at the scrambling enemy teams. _'This old man is ready!'_

* * *

Germany, after seeing how everyone took America's ridiculous announcement of a paintball war (calling it 'World War III', no less, the nerve), was rather amazed at the seriousness and effort present. _'Why doesn't anyone take the World Conference this seriously? Seriously, this is a _paintball _war. Idioten, all of them.'_

Italy tugged on his sleeve and happily exclaimed. "Look-a, Germany, look! I made-a a white flag!" He waved the small thing in his hand back and forth.

Germany grabbed it and snapped it, saying sternly. "Italy, this is war! We are _NOT _losing _this _World War, you hear me? We are going to win, and we won't win if we surrender! No white flags! Nein!"

The usually cowering country in front of him stumbled backwards a step, but then straightened up and saluted. Germany didn't know whether it was his words that had gotten through or the fact that paintball was non-lethal most of the time, but he was grateful that Italy was taking things seriously just like him.

_'I suppose I'm an idiot too.'_

* * *

"Time's up." Russia said sweetly.

"OPEN FIRE!" America commanded gleefully, enjoying the moment.

His shout seemed to serve its purpose for more than just the Axis/Allies team. Everyone started shooting at opposing teams at once, though for what purpose they did they weren't sure. It was just the right thing to do in the game. The teams stuck close to their crates of supplies, but at the same time tried to gain more territory.

The Nordic Alliance and the European Alliance fired mostly at each other, though occasionally they'd shoot down one of the standalone nations coming too close. At the same time France and England were yelling about who was the better marksman and seemed ready to turn on each other even as they tried to hit Poland. Poland, unwilling to ruin his clothes, was very good at dodging paint pellets.

The South/Central American Alliance, the Baltic/Asia Alliance, and the African Alliance alternated between shooting at each other (provoked by Australia) and shooting at the Axis/Allies Alliance. Lithuania in particular seemed to be working out some aggression towards Russia. The few un-allied countries between and around the four teams had been shot down and captured almost immediately, their equipment having been confiscated and themselves dumped in a corner near the doors.

What might have been the most impressive was how the Axis/Allies Alliance seemed to be holding their own against three other teams. More than holding their own, they were gaining ground. Germany had taken charge and was commanding Russia and China. The two large Nations made a very effective defense/offense duo, China swooping and spinning with his wok as a shield, and Russia with his rubber pipe to knock away close adversaries. Both occasionally supplied counter-fire to give themselves a chance to move forward.

Germany was directing Italy as both of them worked to provide cover fire for China and Russia. Germany seemed rather motivated to win, probably because of Russia and America's earlier comments about never winning World Wars. Somewhat separate from their efforts, Japan was simply trying to reduce the number of enemies they had, alternating between his paintball gun and his blow-gun disguised as a katana.

Entirely separate from the efforts of the rest of the team was plan B. Also known as the North American twins.

* * *

In order to picture what is happening, imagine a long, rectangular room. Against one of the short walls is the Axis/Allies Alliance. Trying to hem them in are the South/Central American Alliance, the Baltic/Asia Alliance, and the African Alliance in a slowly retreating triangle. In the corners of the opposite wall are the Nordic Alliance and the European Alliance, completely ignoring the larger battle in favor of targeting each other.

Scattered randomly in the room are standalone nations. And in the middle of the room is Switzerland, who enjoys shooting the standalone nations. Anyway, back to the battles.

* * *

"Move your tushie, frog! I can shoot Poland before you do!" England elbowed France out of their cover, also known as their crate. Austria was hiding inside, occasionally popping his head up to fire at Sweden.

France shoved back and aimed his own paintball gun at the Nordics. "You move your _own_ tushie, Angleterre! The black sheep of Europe could never take down Poland before _moi_!"

"You take that back!"

* * *

Canada and America were working together to take down the South/Central American Alliance, while discussing an idea between the two of them. Between firing rounds of paint pellets at their southern neighbors, the brothers spoke while also keeping an eye on the state of the rest of the alliances.

"Are you s-sure?" Canada stuttered. He ducked behind the crate to reload his gun. "The others are doing p-pretty well."

America fired the last of his own ammunition before joining his brother. "F*ck yeah, I'm sure! We're plan B, bro! Everyone knows that when plan A goes wrong, plan B saves the day!"

"But you didn't have any plans when you came in here..." Canada mumbled.

"We do now!" America exclaimed. "And we're gonna be awesome! We'll both be heroes!"

"And I'll be the target..." Canada complained.

America winked. "Relax, bro, everything'll be cool! We won't go through with it unless the commies go down, we'll just get ready for if they do!"

Canada sighed with grudging acceptance and resignation. "Fine..."

"Awesome! I knew you'd come around!" America exclaimed. Then, he pulled his favorite bomber jacket out of nowhere and held it out to Canada. "C'mon, hoodie now."

* * *

For the European Alliance, things were not looking good. Hungary had gotten taken out early when the Nordics fired on her simultaneously. The tomboyish country had gone down fighting through the hail of colors, taking out Finland with three clean shots to the chest. Both of them now sat in the dead corner by the doors. They were both of the game, but the Nordic Alliance still had the advantage in numbers. And teamwork. And morale.

France and England were reduced to only defending with counter-fire to prevent the Nordics from pulling another simultaneous takeout. The two were arguing about whose fault it was they were losing.

"It was you who missed Norway!" England shouted while reloading.

As France kept firing at the Nordics, he retorted. "If _you _had taken out Sweden in the beginning, we wouldn't be here!"

"Frog!"

"Black sheep of Europe!"

The long-time rivals threw down their weapons and started fighting each other with feet and fists. England got France in a chokehold while France tried to kick the other nation off. They shouted insults and tore at each other's hair.

The Nordics, staring, didn't bother to shoot at the two.

"Does this mean we win?" Iceland asked.

"I don't know." Norway replied.

The Nordics glanced at each other. Sweden was about to speak, but he never got the chance. A dozen shots rang out and the Nordics glanced down at themselves to see splotches of purple over their hearts. They looked up at the same time France and England did, and both sides were surprised to see Austria standing up in the crate, a smoking gun in his hands. Though why it was smoking when it only fired paint was beyond anyone's best guess.

Austria, the snooty aristocrat, the stuck-up nobleman, the snide musician, had single-handedly taken out the Nordics and turned the tide of the battle.

Poland whined. "Aw, man! I liked this blouse!"

"Hmph." Austria turned his nose up at the sound of Poland's voice. "Maybe you'll think twice about taking down Hungary next time."

* * *

Just as the European side of the war ended, the rest of the world reached its climax. The Baltic/Asia Alliance, after losing that loudmouth Australia, managed to pull together. They came to an agreement with the African Alliance and both groups fired simultaneously.

China, with all his best efforts at defending with his beloved wok and all his martial arts skills, couldn't keep up with it all at once. And Russia, though good at dodging and deflecting with his waterpipe, could not take fire from two different sides. Both nations fell at the same time, with splatters of green and gold at their collars.

The three teams working against the Axis/Allies Alliance cheered even as Germany, Japan, and Italy watched in horror.

Behind the crate, America said to his brother grimly. "Plan B is a go."

* * *

France and England sat against the wall, watching the rest of the world as they fought their paintball war. After Russia and China fell dramatically side-by-side, a figure suddenly leapt to its feet from behind the Axis/Allies team crate.

"Is that America?!" England exclaimed. "What does that bloody wanker think he's bloody doing?!"

France, surprised as well, said. "I don't know, Angleterre. Then again, this is _l'Amerique_. Perhaps he doesn't either."

America waved his arms around wildly, practically flailing, and stumbled into the open. He tugged the zipper of his bomber jacket up higher. "Wait! Don't shoot! Uh... The Hero has an idea!"

The three enemy alliances aimed their weapons, but didn't fire.

"Moron." England muttered.

America, hesitating as if thinking his words through, stopped moving. Then, he spoke again, at a normal volume for once. His voice seemed strained for some reason though. And hadn't he not been wearing that jacket before?

"The... idea... is... a plan! The Hero has a plan B! It's a really good plan! It's an... _awesome_ plan! The plan will... lead the Axis/Allies Alliance to victory!"

His voice grew softer again, and he cleared his throat before continuing more loudly than before.

"The... plan is... um..." He glanced at something behind the crate claimed by the African Alliance. France and England followed his gaze, but didn't notice anything.

America suddenly straightened and looked forward again. His voice was soft and... not America's. "The plan is for me to be a distraction, because I'm not America."

Grips on weapons tightened and Cuba growled. "Who the heck are you, then?"

"I'm Canada."

"Where's America?" Canada was quickly forgotten as soon as the question was asked.

The African Alliance's crate was suddenly pushed away from the wall. It hit the South/Central American Alliance crate in the middle of the floor, and both kept going with the momentum to crash into the Baltic/Asia crate against the other wall. All three teams were suddenly without cover.

"I'm right here!" America's voice was heard, and people glanced around trying to find where it was coming from.

"Oh, come on!" A familiar figure next to the crates took a light-colored hoodie off and tossed it to Cambodia. No, wait, Kenya? Canadia or whoever. The person who threw it was none other than America, in full WWII uniform. Guns turned to aim at him.

"Hey, Germany!" He shouted. "What did Prussia say when England tried to boil water?"

Germany, coming to a realization and figuring out the plan, nodded and replied. "Fire!"

The remaining Axis/Allies forces shot everything they had left at their unsuspecting enemies. Paint pellets flew. Battle cries of "Pasta!", "Sieg!", and "Gomen nasai!" were heard. All three opposing teams were cut down in a hailstorm of color. When the ammunition ran out, they were all out of the game.

Cheers rang out.

"That was awesome!"

"Victory!"

"Pastaaaa~!"

"Yatta! We have won."

China and Russia sat up, both of them sighing in both relief and disappointment. They looked at each other, and gave encouraging smiles.

"At least our sacrifices were not in vain, aru."

"Da. Can I visit your place?"

"No, aru."

_Chyoo! Chyoo chyoo chyoo chyoo! Chyoo chyoo!_

The whizzing sound of paint pellets flying through the air was loud in the suddenly silent room. Each shot fired hit it's mark, and the Axis/Allies Alliance went down. Even the usually forgotten Canada. The last two shots hit France and England dead-center on their foreheads. White paint.

_Chyoo!_

And Austria was hit as an afterthought.

A paintball gun was set down, and on the table, Switzerland and Liechtenstein clambered out of the crate. They'd been forgotten in the chaos almost as well as Canada, and Switzerland, breaking neutrality for once, used the chance to take out the few countries who remained.

"I believe we win." Switzerland took Liechtenstein's hand and together the two of them walked out the door.

America, collapsed against the crate where he fell when hit, whined. "No fair!"

* * *

**AN: **Did anyone see that one coming? XD


	4. Iggy was Joking

**AN: **Here's to another chapter. I hope this story is well-liked by those who read it, since not many people seem to be reading.

* * *

_**Iggy was Joking**_

Sitting on uncomfortable metal chairs behind a covered table were five countries. America, France, England, Japan, and Germany. They were all dressed more formally than they would've liked, and most wore nearly identical expressions of horrified anticipation. Each had a microphone, a glass of water, and a notebook in front of them. They gave a collective sigh as they looked on at the crowd of reporters.

Thank god the microphones weren't on yet, but the frequent camera flashes weren't much better than the verbal storm to come.

After their world meeting yesterday, most of the nations had gone home with paint stains, hesitant arrangements to meet up later, and something to think about. But on the bright side, they didn't _have_ to see each other for another month. On the not-so-bright side, their bosses had grilled and lectured everyone. Mostly about commandeering the UN building, since their much-publicized get-together there was causing a media rampage.

The five countries currently preparing their mental defenses against the press were the ones unlucky enough to have been nominated by their bosses to quell the news storm.

France and Japan were there because they had caused a circus with their interviews, no matter how brief. Switzerland would've been there too, but he'd declared "neutrality" and holed up at his younger sister's house. England was sent as a replacement for the neutral nation, much to his horror. America was nominated, of course, because he was the one who started the mess in the first place, and Germany had been involuntarily volunteered to keep order.

The nations to be interviewed sat behind their table, uneasy about the media rampage to begin in a few minutes. Except for America, who seemed to think it was the best idea ever.

England muttered to France dejectedly while doodling a TARDIS. "You know, when I said we'd have a bloody press conference, I was only joking."

"I know." France replied with a sigh. He turned the page of the tabloid magazine he hid behind his notebook, barely seeing it.

Japan, like England, was drawing, though he was working on a doujinshi.

Germany, frustrated and irritated, said to the three. "Would you stop that?! The subject of yesterday's meeting was your problems, and here you are with them right in front of you! At least put them away for the press conference!"

"I agree, the obsessions need to stop." America added cheerfully with a wink. "But this press conference is gonna be awesome! Dudes, we can totally promote world peace and stuff!"

Germany growled. "Nein, we are sticking with the script." He slapped a hand on his notebook. "Our governments gave us notes on what we should say, and we will stick to them."

"You're no fun at all!" America complained.

Suddenly, a bout of feedback resonated throughout the crowded room as the microphones turned on. As soon as it quieted, the reporters began shouting questions.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bonnefoy! We'd like to know who all the representatives are!"

"Mr. Ludwig Beilschmidt! Why were you chosen as Germany's rep?"

"Mr. Honda, what was the purpose of the meeting?"

"Everyone wants to know when these conferences were established, Mr. Jones!"

"Why was no one aware of this 'Nations of the World' branch of the UN?"

"The world wants to know what was discussed yesterday!"

"Mr. Kirkland, what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Bonnefoy?"

The many questions ranged from sterotypical, to well-thought out, to nosy and personal. To prevent either France or America (Or quite possibly both) from blurting out answers that weren't approved, Germany snatched his microphone and spoke, taking control of the crowd.

"Please quiet down now. We will make our statements first, and then answer questions after."

His request, surprisingly enough considering the scavenging nature of the media, was honored. Germany looked at the four nations to his right pointedly, silently warning them to keep to the script. America, though slightly disappointed, did as he was told. He flipped his own star-spangled notebook open and began reading from it somewhat mechanically with little enthusiasm.

"We are very glad to welcome all to this press conference. My name is Alfred F. Jones, and as was prematurely revealed by Mr. Bonnefoy, I am the person who originally proposed the Nations of the World branch of the UN and the U.S. representative of the branch."

England spoke next, opting to try sounding natural rather than reading his planned speech. "And I'm Arthur Kirkland. I represent the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. That's quite a mouthful though, chaps, England is much easier to say. Anywho, our World Conferences are still a fairly recent development. They haven't even been around a decade."

France, who sat in the middle, continued. "That is correct. And as you all surely know, _mon nom _is Francis Bonnefoy, representative of France. Our branch has been kept secret because it was thought to fail."

The world's governments had elected to keep both France and America's speaking parts to a minimum. A move with common sense, if you asked anyone besides the two blabbermouths.

"I am Kiku Honda." Japan covered his stage fright with his usual expressionless mask, but on the inside he was blue in the face. "We proved expectations of failure wrong, and decided to reveal, ah, reveal ourselves with a p-public arrival of representatives. Yesterday, Mr. Jones made a proposal to improve... international relations. His idea was for nations to-to interact with each other more often, and he made his point very well with an example. The proposal was... was discussed... ah, it was discussed... and..."

"And it has been passed." Germany took over more strongly. "All the major powers of the world and many others have agreed to work on communicating better. Our branch will be having monthly meetings from this point onward for an uncertain amount of time to oversee progress. No, we will not be publicizing what happens during the meetings."

He took a deep breath. Just looking at the crowd of vultures in front of them was making him angry.

"We will now take one question each. Once we have answered them, we will leave."

The reporters shoved their neighbors and kicked at each other's feet as they jostled and fought to ask a question. One of them finally shouted out a question.

"Mr. Beilschmidt! Mr. Beilschmidt, when was your branch of the UN established?"

Germany needed only a quick glance at his notebook to recall the approved answer. He flatly stated. "Three years ago."

"Mr. Honda, aren't all of you a little young to be representatives?"

Japan didn't meet the reporters' eyes, instead turning the page in his Hetalia-themed notebook to find the answer. He looked up and replied. "Our branch, 'Nations of the World', i-is directed towards the youth and the f-future."

"Are there any details of your efforts to improve international relations that you can give us, Mr. Kirkland?"

England looked down at his blue, TARDIS-themed notebook and then back at the crowd. "We are making efforts for representatives and ambassadors to get to know each other better and we're also trying create international, cultural events for the public."

"Mr. Bonnefoy, do you believe in aliens?"

"That's a stupid question! Which publisher do you work for?!"

"Mr. Bonnefoy, do you agree that the current state of international affairs is distant?"

That was quite possibly the worst possible way to phrase the question directed at France. He smirked. "_Ohonhon!_ I believe that a little _amour _between nations would not be amiss. Britain, in particular, could be a little more open to-" England smacked his shoulder. As France winced and rubbed the sore spot, he sighed and said. "Yes, I agree. And aliens are very real."

Just one more question to go.

"Mr. Jones, why did all the representatives, yourself included, walk out of the UN building covered in paint yesterday?"

America smiled brightly and chuckled. "Well that's easy!" He exclaimed cheerily as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. He turned them back and forth, searching through the four pages of print for the approved answer to give. He couldn't find it. He went through them backwards, but still nothing came up.

"Ah, hold on a second."

He looked through them a third time, and when still no safe answer appeared, he looked desperately at his fellow countries, appealing to them. They themselves were paging through their own notebooks for the rehearsed response, but all met his gaze with the same uneasy confusion. It wasn't in there. Of all the possible questions and answers expected, the obviously needed explanation for the paint was missing.

_'America-san needs to come up with an answer. The public will become too curious if we do not say something.' _Japan thought.

England tried to sit and smile for the cameras, while inwardly thinking. _'The bloody git better come up with a response.'_

_'Why on Earth did no one consider that question?' _France wondered as he desperately read through his notes again.

Germany kept looking at America, silently willing the slow-witted nation to use his head for once and give a reply to the question. _'Come on, you moron!'_

America stopped flipping back and forth through his notebook and took a deep breath. He let it out, and calmly looked at the indiscriminate reporter who asked the question. He was freaking out on the inside, and opted to buy time. "Could you say that again?"

"Why did all the representatives at your conference walk out covered in paint stains?"

An idea popped into his mind.

"Terrorists!"

The five countries quickly packed up and darted off the stage. They ran out the doors and into a waiting car before their interrogators could come to their senses and chase after them. They buckled their seat belts. Germany began driving as quickly as he could to the airport without breaking speed limits.

"Terrorists. _Really?_"_  
_

* * *

**AN: **Sorry if this chapter was boring, but I needed a little filler. Anyway, please review, I'd like to hear your thoughts on this story.


	5. The Time was WWII

**AN: **Very recently, I've taken a liking to the character Austria. He'll make an appearance this chapter, along with our favorite Axis/Allies team. Oh, and the previous chapter has very little impact on anything.

* * *

_**The Time was WWII**_

It was late night in the rocky hills and valleys of Asia. On a grassy knoll, under the stars, by a babbling spring of water bubbling up from an arrangement of boulders, there stood a house. It was very traditional-looking, made of wood and parchment screens. The house was one of China's vacation homes, a place to get away from the stressful and political nature of politics. Because it was built for that very purpose, China had chosen it as the perfect location to play his part in Operation: Bonding.

Inside, a story was being told.

"The time was World War II." Germany began. "The setting was a desert island. We, the Axis, had been stranded on it. During the first day or two, we-"

China suddenly burst into the dimly lit living room from the kitchen, bopping his head and sliding his feet to a bouncy techno beat playing in his ears. He spun a step away from the door and let it swing shut behind him. The four thousand year old nation's eyes were closed as he started swinging his arms from side to side in front of him, snapping his fingers and swaying his hips along with the music.

"Nuh nuh nuh. Nuh. Nuh nuh nuh." He half-hummed.

The other nations in the room, who were the Axis and the four other Allies plus Austria for some unknown reason, complained in unison. "Chinaaa!"

China opened one eye to glance at his friends and acquaintances. He huffed out of annoyance and grudgingly hit the pause button on his music player. The old nation slid his headphones down to hang around his neck and smoothed out the wrinkles in his traditional red robe. He turned on his heels to face the group and put his hands on his hips.

"What is it now, aru?" His accented speech was heavy with sarcasm. "An old man can't enjoy his music in his own home?"

England irritably admonished the elder. "We agreed to leave our... hobbies... behind for today to... enjoy each other's company." The last part was spat out like poison.

"Oh, puh-lease, _xiao haizi_." China replied calmly, crossing his arms. "I know all of you who have them brought your toys, aru." He glanced at Austria. "Except for you, aru. Why you here at all?"

Austria huffed and turned away. He faced the window.

England looked slightly guilty, along with everyone else who snuck their obsessions in somewhere. The British nation fingered the TARDIS keychain his pocket. He still wouldn't _admit_ that his enthusiasm for _Doctor Who_ was a problem though. England wiped the guilty frown off his face and put on an angry, accusing expression.

"Even if it were true, that doesn't give you the right!" He shouted, pointing. "And what the bloody hell did you call me?"

America snickered.

"I called you England, _xiao haizi_." China replied with an even voice and contented smile as he knelt to join the group on the floor.

America snickered again.

England could feel a vein throbbing on his forehead. "What did you call me?!" He turned to face America and clenched his hands into fists at the sight of poorly concealed amusement. He shouted. "What did he call me?! Put your bloody lack of a proper language barrier to use and translate!"

The ex-colony laughed out loud. "HAHAHA!" He poked England's nose. "Dude, China totally called you a little kid!"

"Hey! I am NOT a child!"

Russia chimed in, trying to be friendly. "You know, Britain, everyone is little kid compared to China. He is wise old man, da. You are opposite compared to him."

England let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding with a sigh. He looked China in the eyes calmly and pointedly and said. "Yes, that's quite right. Everyone's young from your point of view. You're an old codger!"

China wasn't bothered by the blatant insult. Instead, he closed his eyes and smirked out of self-satisfaction. "At least I am wise, aru. You opposite, remember?"

America burst out laughing again at the cross expression on England's face.

China added contentedly. "If I am old man, and England-ahen is _xiao haizi_, that make America _xiao baobao_. Aru?"

"What, hey!" America exclaimed, now as offended as England. He pouted. "I'm _not_ a baby!"

The others watched on in entertainment, but Germany knew it was better to stop arguments between nations before they got any further than the current one already had. He pulled an angry England back to his seat next to France and confiscated China's music player and headphones. He dropped the taken items on a nearby table and took his own seat again.

Sternly, he ordered. "That is enough now. I am telling a story. Understood?"

"Si!" Italy.

"Yeah, totally." America.

"Hai, Germany." Japan.

"Oui." France.

"Yes, fine." England.

"Da." Russia.

"Aru." China.

"Hmph." Austria.

Though the last two responses were fairly ambiguous, Germany felt that his point had gotten across and his companions would allow him to speak without interruption. He let himself have a small smile as he told the tale and reminisced.

"The time was World War II. The setting was a desert island. We, the Axis, were stranded on it. During the first day or so, we made an SOS on the beach, Japan discovered fruit for us to eat, and Italy built a giant pasta statue on the sand..."

Germany was a somewhat surprisingly good storyteller. He made grand gestures that illustrated the events he spoke of and allowed Japan and Italy to speak their own parts. It was a somewhat patchwork story, but it was entertaining and funny. The story of their first day on the island included Italy's antics, Japan's stoicism, and Germany beginning to like the company of his two friends. Eventually, they reached the part where they sat (or slept) around the fire.

"We felt as if we were being watched, but that night was an enjoyable one, so we let the feeling be." Germany said. You could practically see the glimmers of their campfire reflected in his eyes. "We sat-"

"I slept" Italy interjected happily.

"Around the campfire." Germany continued. "Japan and I made brief conversation and had s'mores before simply allowing ourselves to enjoy the peaceful, musical night."

The corners of Japan's mouth twitched upward at the phrasing. The island nation took over the next part of the story. "We suddenly noticed that there really was music playing. Behind us, where the shore, sea, and starlight met, there was a piano. And playing the instrument was Austria-san."

"And I said, 'HOW DID I NOT NOTICE HIM?!' because really, how did I miss something like that?" Germany finished with a small chuckle.

Small laughs and looks of amusement passed between the listeners. Austria simply looked bored even as he re-lived the odd memory.

"Austria-san, how did you get to the island in the first place?" Japan suddenly asked, realizing the obvious question. Laughter was cut short when the others heard him, all of them curious. They looked to the European country for his answer.

They received no vocal reply. Instead, Austria angled his head to glance at the curious countries, and smirked. He haughtily looked away from them and back the window, staying silent.

"..."

"Well," Germany broke the awkward quietness. "We won't be getting an answer from him." He panned his gaze over the Allies, who sat in a line across from the Axis powers and Austria for old times sake. "Since it was you watching us, I'm wondering, what did you do that night on the island?"

Italy chimed in with a ditsy interjection. "Ve~!"

Japan added. "I am curious as well."

"Me too." Austria spoke properly for the first time since arriving.

The Allies glanced at each other, and memories reflected in their eyes. From their point of view, China's bamboo mat became sandy ground, the hanging lanterns became reflections of firelight off the leaves, and stars much like the ones visible through the window became the ceiling. The time was WWII...

* * *

It was a dark, shadowy night blanketed in mystery. Crickets chirped eerily, hooting noises repeated on a never-ending loop, and the Allies huddled around their campfire. They half-heartedly toasted marshmallows on sticks over the crackling fire as the awkward silence between them mutated into the paranoia of a nightmare.

Each of the five wore a frown, and glanced at each other both suspiciously and hopefully.

Russia gently touched his scarf, grateful for the light feeling of home it brought him. France looked ill. China was weary and his shoulders were hunched as he rubbed his sleeves against each other for warmth. America seemed to be the only one trying to enjoy himself, but even the normally cheerful nation was having a hard time smiling. His grin was more of a grimace.

England started singing lowly, hoping to lighten the mood. In the night, it morphed into a dark chant even more questionable than the one he'd summoned Russia with. He continued the song, eyes closed and unaware of his friends' wary expressions.

America yelled out, frightened and uneasy. "I feel like we're summoning the devil!"

The expressions on the others' faces broadcasted assent.

* * *

The Allies unanimously agreed. "We'd rather not talk about it."

"Fine, then." Germany shrugged. He looked at the watch on his wrist. "It's getting late. We all have work and flights to catch tomorrow, so we should be getting to sleep." He sighed wearily. "Our weekend vacation is over."

Groans from around the room echoed his feelings.

America sighed, and then leaped to his feet, exclaiming. "I declare this sleepover to be successful!"

"It's a get-together, _not _a sleepover!" England responded offensively.

Italy interjected happily. "Well, whatever it is, we got to spend-a time together as friends, and that's what's important! Ve~!"

"I don't care." China stated grouchily, though his contented expression belied his tone. "As long as China does not have to host next mission, aru."

Grumblings and mumblings followed each of the Axis and Allies as they stood and turned out the open living room doorframe. The two groups turned in different directions, one to the left and one to the right. From the forgotten Austria's point of view on the bamboo floor mat, each nation couldn't have been more different.

Italy, with his ditsy personality, oblivious smile, and always-open offer of pasta.

Germany, a stern, realistic country with common sense and leadership, but few social skills.

Japan, the quiet, polite, isolated nation very much kind and very much prone to culture shock.

America, loud, brash, and stuck in the clouds, with ideals and good intentions that still hadn't been knocked out of him by reality.

England, a tsundere, as Japan said, who acted on long-held grudges and comforted the most hidden pains with equal spontaneity.

France, a flirt and a romantic with courage that came and went as often as England's kindness.

Russia, so broken and so hopeful he would shatter both your heart and your bones if you got to know him.

China, ancient, wise, and as childish as all the rest while still mourning the years gone by.

Each nation, each culture, and each person... They were very much different. And very much the same. Austria could see it, and it was very irritating sometimes when no one else could. And when it wasn't irritating, it was disturbing. Because it made him wonder... It made him wonder how they fit into the world. All of them, the nations. The countries. The personifications.

He himself was simply an Austria-shaped puzzle piece of the world.

Snooty, aristocratic, and with a passion for music that anyone could admire a little bit.

He was as different from any of the others as they were to each other. And the same as all of them too.

_'We represent our countries, our people.' _He thought. _'We are our cultures and our differences. We are our wars and our history. We are conflict and we are peace.'_

Austria looked at the stars, glimmering. Shining. So happy in life. So set in their ways. So imperially silent. So hopelessly ideal. So warm and cold at once. So sterotypically romantic. So cruel. So old... He liked to imagine that the stars had music in them. Music that reflected everything. The world, the nations, the meaning of life... And sometimes, on nights like this one, he could almost hear it. But he hadn't ever managed to since a decade ago, when the world became distant. He still liked to strain his ears and listen though. That was just him.

_'We are ourselves.'_

He thought of the lonely, empty years in his house since Hungary had gotten her own place four years ago. He thought of the uncharacteristic desperation for company that had driven him to follow Germany to his get-together with old acquaintances. Practically strangers to Austria, and yet he felt happier in their presence than he had in years. And yet... he felt more isolated than ever. But he wouldn't admit it. Not even in the rare, friendly atmosphere that had arisen tonight.

_'We are proud.'_

Footsteps creaked the floorboards and Austria turned around to look at the doorway. Three heads poked around. Two dark-haired, one blond.

"See?" China said, exaggeratedly pointing at Austria while mock-glaring at the others. "I told you we forgot something, aru!" His head disappeared and his naturally light footsteps disappeared, leaving the other two alone with him.

"Ah, hello, Austria-san." Japan said, stepping into full view with a polite bow of acknowledgement.

"Yo, Austria!" The other person just _had_ to be America.

Austria harrumphed. "Tch. What do you want?"

"Well," America shrugged. "China reminded us that you were still here, and we got a little worried so we came by to check on you."

"Hai." Japan's mouth was curled into a small smile. "Are you going to sleep soon? We all have a full week ahead."

Austria replied snappishly. "Why would you care? My matters don't concern any of you."

"That's what friends do, dude!"

"Hai."

Both responses were more sincere than anything Austria had expected. What was even more surprising was when the two nations sat down on either side of him and joined him in his stargazing. They were quiet, but the silence was amicable. Austria didn't feel quite so lonely anymore. He let a smile slip onto his face.

_'Perhaps... we are friends.'_

And, looking up at the night sky, he could hear a timeless melody.

* * *

**AN: **Wow, the ending came unexpectedly. Apologies if you didn't like Austria, but please leave your thoughts of the chapter, good and bad, in a review!

* * *

**Omake:**

Austria could almost hear that song he imagined resonating in the sky. He strained his ears and closed his eyes. A song that meant everything...

_Marukaite chikyuu~!_

_Marukaite chikyuu~!_

_Marukaite chikyuu~!_

_Boku Hetalia!_

His eyes snapped open again and he glared at the stars.

A vein throbbed on his forehead and both America and Japan gaped at Austria in surprise when he shouted. "_Really?!_"


	6. CD - Vending Machines

**AN: **This is a little filler chapter. It doesn't have any impact on the actual plot of the story, but it sort of continues off the last chapter. And it's my attempt at something like Hetalia's "Japan and America" mini-plots. And I apologize in advance for any offensive words or mistakes in here. Also for the utter crack that is this chapter.

Note: CD in the chapter selection stands for Cultural Differences.

* * *

_**Cultural Differences - Vending Machines**_

Vending machines are a common sight in office buildings. They're often put there for the convenience of the workers. Vending machines sometimes sell snacks, sometimes canned soda-pop, and sometimes plain old bottled water. You may even find unique items depending on where you are in the world. But all vending machines share one common trait. They don't work. This is true no matter where you are. What's fascinating is the reaction you get from people around the world when that happens.

* * *

Let's say a grumpy Brit with large eyebrows had to get up three hours earlier than planned to get to work because he realized he forgot to bring it along on his weekend trip to China and couldn't do it on the plane. He's sleepy and irritable, and he trudges into 10 Downing street with a heavy, drawn-out yawn. His name tag reads 'Arthur Kirkland', but to those in the know, his real name is England, or Britain, whichever you prefer.

England grabs a styrofoam cup off a small table and sets it under the nozzle of a strange device for dispensing tea. He shakily puts a few coins in the slot, and they thunk as they land in a box of very similar coins inside the machine. He blearily rubs his half-closed eyes and waits. A few seconds later, a drop of brown, watery liquid drips from the nozzle and lands in the cup. A small wisp of steam rises up. Another few seconds, and the second drop falls. Nothing comes after.

England blinks, his expression bewildered as he processes what is happening. Or rather, not happening. He blinks again, and he takes a deep breath.

He screams. "BLOODY _H*LL_!"

No more than five minutes later, the British Prime Minister, still blissfully asleep as all sane people are at this hour, is awoken by his bedroom door slamming open.

"I think these ridiculous, new-fangled, bloody tea vending machines have to go. You know what, ALL vending machines have to go." England begins ranting at the door, while writing down details on a sheet of paper. The bags under his eyes reveal his sleep/tea deprivation. "I'm banning them from England- actually, forget that, I'm banning them from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Great Britain. Whatever."

He continues babbling with insanity. "Good, old fashioned kettles are blessedly reliable. Nothing like modern day vending machines. I'll put that down on the proposal." He jots a note on the paper in his hands. "I figure, with support from the both of us, Sir Prime Minister, we can get this passed through Parliament in no time at all. Teehee, time, it's wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey. Quote from _Doctor Who_, but of course you knew that. NO MORE VENDING MACHINES!"

He turns and stares at the Prime Minister with a wide smile. "Are we in agreement?"

The Prime Minster wonders what brought this on and what he did to deserve it.

* * *

British people are insane. Ha ha. The French, on the other hand, are much more down-to-Earth.

A Frenchman with girlishly long hair dressed in bright blue walks up to a snack vending machine. He inserts a bill of currency and and makes a selection. F1. A small bag of popcorn, simply because he felt like it. And he loved gourmet popcorn.

The long, metal wire curled into a spring-like shape turns, and the last bag of popcorn is pushed forward as it does. France, because who else would it be, taps his foot impatiently as it moves. The people walking past him in the hallway pay him no mind. The spring stops turning. The bag wobbles on the very edge, tilts to the left... and stays stuck.

He gapes, disbelieving, for a few moments, his eyes popping out. Then, he falls to his knees dramatically, his head in his hands as he sobs. He crawls forward, pathetically, and angles his head upward again to gaze upon his not-buried treasure. He places a hand against the glass and wails.

"Wah-haaaahhh!" He sobs into his other arm. "_Pourqoooiiii?! _This is worse than the news about Bigfoot!"

The people previously ignoring him stop and stare before remembering that they have jobs to do and hurry on.

* * *

Eh-heh-heh... Well, even if the French aren't the most grounded, Germans are certainly organized.

A blond German with his hair gelled back dressed in military clothes stopped and turned in the middle of an empty hallway to examine the contents of a drink vending machine. It was Germany, of course. He considered his options. Cherry soda, grape soda, orange soda, coca-cola... Ah, root beer. Next best thing when you couldn't have real beer on the job.

He counted out exactly the right amount of coins and inserted them one by one into the coin slot. He pushed a button on the selection pad. There was a mechanical clicking noise inside the vending machine, but no tell-tale thump of a can falling down ever came. Just to be sure he pulled up the flap at the bottom of the machine and checked to see if his drink was there. It wasn't.

Five minutes later, Germany was filling out a complaint form, which was more like a complaint packet in itself.

"Let's see here... Complaint, broken vending machine, check M-21." He mumbled to himself as he bubbled in the correct circles in his packet. He flipped to the next page. "Which vending machine, check A-3... Problem, drink does not fall, check A-1... Name, Ludwig Beilschmidt... Am I single, check yes... Wait, what?"

* * *

... Um, never mind Germans, the Japanese are sensible.

A Japanese man with a bowl-like haircut sat behind a plain wooden desk. His nameplate read 'Kiku Honda', and a neat stack of paperwork sat, finished and gleaming, to his right. Having gotten done with it, the man doodled something looking like a comic in a journal he carried with him.

"Let's see..." He said to himself in English, though with the accent it came out more like "Ret's see."

He drew, in manga style, a tall man in a coat and a long scarf. The figure held a bottle and a sunflower, and his face was sweet and smiling.

"No. This is not right." Kiku Honda, known as Japan to his friends, mumbled. He shuddered.

Japan closed the notebook, sighed, and stood up to stretch. Then, he sat back down and slid open a small drawer in his desk. From inside, he pulled out a snack-sized bag of something salty and popped it open. Japan was sensible, after all, he didn't rely on vending machines.

* * *

Americans are... well, Americans.

Next to the automatic doors of an American supermarket chain, there sat a soft drink vending machine. A man on a shopping cart of food purchases flew past it in a blur. There was a loud _screeeeech! _and the sound of feet running backwards. The shopping cart rattled as it was pulled along. The man with the cart, blond and with glasses, dressed casually in a red and blue T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, turned to face the vending machine.

He rummaged around in the pockets of a brown bomber jacket draped over the side of the shopping cart. He found a dollar bill. He inserted the money into the feed on the vending machine, and made a selection for coke.

There came a clicking noise from inside the machine, but nothing fell into the dispenser.

America, if you hadn't guessed who he was already (moron), leaned against the face of the machine and tapped his index finger impatiently. He frowned, and checked to see if anything had fallen again. Still, the answer was no. He frowned and banged a fist against the side of the machine. There was a _K-klunk! _but still no can of soda fell.

_BANG!_

He hit the machine again, denting the metal surface and shifting it a few inches away from its original position.

_Thunk._

America's selection of soft drink finally fell out of the vending machine. Along with several quarters, which probably weren't supposed to come out of there, but that wasn't important. America picked up the can, popped the tab, and happily left with his shopping cart while humming a cheerful tune.

* * *

In Russia- actually, let's not say anything about Russia just yet.

A large Russian man in a long, tan coat with a pale scarf wrapped around his pale neck walked through an empty courtyard in a light snow flurry. As he strode past a red, drink vending machine, a rattling came from inside the aluminum box.

Russia (who else could it be?) kept walking. Something was suddenly shot out of the dispenser towards Russia's head. At very high speed.

_Clap!_

He caught it with one hand. Russia popped open the tab on the grape soda that had tried to assassinate him and drank it all in a few gulps.

"Ah." He sighed in contentment.

Russia crushed the can in his mittened hand and tossed it in the wastebasket next to the vending machine. Then, he patted the vending machine like you would a beloved pet, and then left. The vending machine shuddered, and suddenly shifted to the side, knocking the wastebasket over. Russia's crushed can of soda fell out.

Because in Soviet Russia, and modern Russia too, the VENDING MACHINE hates YOU.

* * *

**AN: **I hope this chapter wasn't too dull. It's just something I felt I had to write. Please leave your thoughts of it in a review!


	7. Winter Wonderland part 1

**AN: **This chapter switches between a few different points of view, but centers around Austria and Russia, who I think is more of an anti-hero than a villain. Austria's in this chapter, just 'cause I like him. He'll probably be interacting with the Axis/Allies guys a lot in this story actually. Anyway, there's a B-plot involving China and America too. They intersect. Please enjoy!

* * *

_**Winter Wonderland part 1**_

Over the course of the work week, seven nations received email invitations. They arrived separately, each one tailored and worded specifically to the individual it was sent to. The recipients were both surprised and mildly concerned to say the least. But they all sent back (mostly tentative) replies that conveyed more or less the same message.

_Yes._

* * *

Late Friday afternoon, Germany sat in front of a coffee table with an open briefcase on it. He was packing the weekend's paperwork into the case to do on the plane. Neatly, he stacked several folders inside the allotted space and pulled the the lid shut. The clasps were snapped together to lock it. Germany grabbed the handle of the briefcase and picked it up. He walked to the stair landing of the ground floor and set it down next to the small travel bag he'd packed. He was gazing at the two containers contemplatively, considering where it was that he was taking them. Then, the doorbell rang.

_Duuunnn~!_

The sound echoed around Germany's house with a lonely, hollow reverberation. Germany looked up from his briefcase and at the front door, which was visible from the stairs. He strode over to it and undid the locks. Then, he pulled it open by the handle. The hinges didn't squeak.

Germany blinked once in surprise at the sight of the person on his porch. Of everyone who he might've expected to drop by unannounced (Italy, Prussia, and America being at the top of the list), his actual visitor was a bit of a shock. And he was dressed as anachronistically as ever.

"Low C-Major second inversion chord." Austria said softly. "Odd choice for a doorbell."

Germany could only reply. "Uh..."

"May I come in?" Austria asked. For once, the aristocrat was without his cynicism and sarcasm. He was honestly being polite.

"Oh, yes, of course." Germany stepped back and let his old acquaintance in.

He shut the door.

Austria, after stepping onto the threshold, glanced from left to right, and at the floor, and at the ceiling. Anywhere but Germany's face. It was as if the snarky musician was afraid to meet his questioning gaze. Austria shuffled his feet against the wooden flooring.

Germany, noticing the awkward atmosphere, offered a drink. "Would you like some beer? Or tea?"

"Just water, please." Austria replied, still not meeting his eyes.

The blond, host nation went to his kitchen and retrieved a glass of simple tap water. He returned to the entrance foyer to see his guest looking at his travel bag and briefcase with an odd expression.

"Austria?" Germany asked, concerned. "Is everything alright?"

The dark-haired nation startled and swiveled to look at Germany. Germany took a good look at his face for the first time that day. And he was surprised by what he saw. Austria usually wore a look of superior consternation. It wasn't there. Quite the opposite, really. In place of a narrowed, accusing gaze were open, honest eyes that shone with quiet sadness. Rather than a sneer or a scowl, there was a weary frown. Austria looked tired, lost, and... lonely.

Then, the composer looked away and said. "Thank you for the water. I'm fine." He took the glass from Germany's hands. He looked up again. "No. Actually... I'd like to talk, if you could spare the time."

A few minutes later and both countries were seated on Germany's couch, in front of the coffee table. Austria absentmindedly sipped at his water, while Germany's beer sat on the table forgotten. Neither had spoken a word since Austria had confessed to coming by for a chat. Germany didn't bother to start the conversation. He knew the other nation would when he was good and ready.

"I..." Austria began quietly, facing his glass of water rather than the target of his speech. "I don't quite know how to say this."

Germany replied. "I'm listening."

"I've been all alone, recently. You know that."

Germany didn't speak.

Austria continued. "I didn't notice- that is, I noticed, but I ignored it until... Oh, this is hard to phrase..." The normally eloquent nation was at a loss for words. He took a deep breath, let it out, and blurted. "I'm lonely! I need company, only... the few friends I had before this international drift occurred, and by that I mean Hungary, are... _different _now."

The listening nation was shocked at the admission.

"I..." Austria stumbled over the words. "I want, that is, I wish... I'd like to accompany you on your weekend excursion." He turned the glass in his hands back and forth, rubbing his fingers against the smooth surface nervously.

Defensively, he elaborated with a ramble. "I know I'm only a co-worker to most of your friends, and you don't owe me anything, but with all of you last time it felt like I was happy for the first time in a long while. And a few of them were friendly with me, so I'd like to get to know them too. And if I could just come-"

Germany cut him off. "_Schweigen._ Say no more." He smiled supportively. "You're always welcome."

"R-really?" Austria looked dumbfounded.

Germany nodded.

Austria looked him in the eye. He hesitated, and then, he smiled. "Thank you."

"Before you say that," Germany chuckled nervously, looking away from Austria. "You might want to know where we are going this time."

* * *

A few hours later, in Russia, China walked down the snowy path with careful, deliberate steps. He kept looking from side to side with furrowed eyebrows and a wary expression. All around him in every direction it was white. White snow on the ground, white snowflakes in the air, white clouds in the sky. The last color he'd seen anywhere was the parking garage a mile back.

He wished he had his music. Even if it was part of the reason why he was in the middle of winter wonder-nowhere. Unfortunately, his music player had stopped working in the cold about three quarters of a mile back. It made the eerie silence unbearable without something to listen to. Instead of useless wishing, China focused on looking at the pathway, not that there was much of one to see. The only indication of the path was the long, linear indent of lower ground in front of him, unmarked by other footprints, just as white as anywhere else he looked.

_'Aiyah!' _China came to a realization. _'No other footprints. That mean I am first one here!' _

A strong, bitter wind suddenly whipped by, billowing his long, red, oriental-patterned winter coat around his legs. The yellow-gold scarf that wrapped his neck snapped back and the icy elements stung his face. China was glad he'd worn his fuzzy rabbit earmuffs. Otherwise, his ears might've frozen off like his nose. The wind died down as quickly as it had come, and China shivered with its leaving.

Looking forward, the ancient country was surprised to see the rectangular silhouette of a mansion in the distance. He hadn't noticed that before. Without another thought, China rushed forward on the path. He ran towards the building as quickly as he could. Eventually, he slowed down as he got close enough to make out the shapes of windows and the front doors.

"Aiyah..." China sighed exhaustedly, a relieved smile on his face. "Finally found Russia home, and I am first one here!" The smile quickly fell off and a shudder ran up his spine as he thought his words through.

"_Aiyah!_" China wailed. "Found _Russia_ home and I am first one here!"

* * *

America walked down the snowy pathway with a happy gait, humming a cheerful tune. He was actually looking forward to this weekend vacation in Russia. He'd seen his old rival's obsession/hobby, and thought it was a shame that Russia couldn't keep working on it all the time. The results were practically the eighth wonder of the modern world. And this weekend everyone would get to see what the big man had managed to create so far. America, for one, was excited about it.

He played a little game as he followed the path, attempting to hop inside the set of footprints already on the ground. The fifth time he tripped over his own feet, he finally decided to give up and went back to walking normally.

"Hm-hm-hm-hm, hm-hm-hm-hm, hmmm." He hummed 'Walking in a Winter Wonderland'. It was fitting, after all, in a place with so much beautiful snow.

Suddenly, a stiff, icy wind picked up, blowing snow in his face. America huddled in his blue winter coat, never more glad to have brought his red scarf and mittens. He buried his face in the scarf and closed his eyes, shivering in the gale. Then, it stopped as unexpectedly as it came. America opened one eye and glanced around, as if waiting for the wind to come back. When nothing happened, he relaxed and stood upright again.

In the distance, the blocky silhouette of a mansion was visible.

"Hey, it's Russia's place!" America exclaimed upon noticing it.

He ran forward, almost stumbling over the first set of footprints several times, hurrying to get to the warm building.

America passed the last of the footprints and something lying to the side of the path in his eagerness to reach the stone mansion. He quickly backtracked and gaped at what he saw.

There was China, huddled down on the ground with his arms under his chin. Besides his head and arms, the rest of him was completely covered in a small mound of snow. The four thousand year old nation was shivering under the snowdrift, his eyes on his own stiff fingers. There was a small pile of snow forming on his head as the light flurry around them continued.

"Dude, what the h*ll?" America asked, confusion evident in his features. He crossed his arms to retain a little warmth, the sight of China under all that snow reminding him of his own discomfort.

China looked up blearily, his eyes unfocused. Then, the ancient nation recognized America and his gaze sharpened. He flailed his arms up and down on the ground they could reach. A bright smile lit up his bleary, frost-bitten face.

"_Měiguó! Jiàn dào nǐ hěn hǎo, aru!_ _Aiyah! Zhēn shì hěn bùcuò, aru!_" The Asian country was still looking at America's face, but his eyes were lost again. And his smile appeared to have been frozen onto his face. "_Éguó __shì __hěn r_è, shì _bùshì?_"

Okay... China was glad to see America. Very glad to see him. And he seemed to be under the impression that Russia was hot (not that way, you gutter-brained fangirls!).

"Uh... China? Yo, you okay?" America asked tentatively. He received no reply, but China kept looking at him expectantly. Apparently, he'd forgotten how to use English. It was probably better to speak in Chinese. "Nǐ hái hǎo ma?"

"_Wǒ hěn hǎo, aru!_" China suddenly slapped himself. His gaze sharpened again, and he said. "Dì yī... Méiyǒu péngyǒu... _Éguó_..."

America translated the second part aloud. "First... Without friends... Russia." He blinked, and shook his head, dismissing the comments for the moment. "Hey, dude, do you wanna come inside to Russia's place? It's a lot warmer."

No reaction came from the bleary-eyed nation.

America sighed, and said. "Jìnlái Éguó de fángzi. Lái ba." He held a mittened hand out to China.

China slapped the proffered hand away and flailed his arms and head about. He shouted. "_Wǒ bù lái! Tā shì kěpà de, aru!_"

He didn't want to come inside because he was afraid of Russia. And after that announcement, he wouldn't stop spazzing.

America tried to calm China down, even though his own voice sounded near-hysterical. "Calm down, China! Geez, it's only Russia! He won't hurt you! Come on, I promise I won't leave you alone, just- dude, just calm down! Russia's not that scary! You really need to come inside... C'mon, your lips are turning blue!"

China kept flailing.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?" America sighed, on the other end of exasperation for once. "Wǒ shì nǐ de péngyǒu, wǒ huì bǎohù nǐ! Wǒ shì yīngxióng! Nǐ néng jìnlái xiànzài ma?"

Translation: [I'm your friend, I'll protect you! I'm the hero! Could you come inside now?]

"_Wǒ bù lái! __Wǒ bù lái! __Wǒ bù lái, aru!_"

Translation: [I won't come! I won't come! I won't come, aru!]

America watched the hypothermia-ridden nation throw a fit. He was caught between being concerned and face-palming. He compromised. America sighed, and then grabbed one of China's arms, yanking him out of the snowdrift. The currently sane country tossed the one needing medical attention over his shoulder and began walking towards the house again. China kept squirming and struggling, but in his sorry state he wasn't capable of escaping from a paper bag.

"___Wǒ bù lái, aru! Wǒ bùxiǎng_ _qù! __Panda!_"

With the hand not keeping a hold of China's waist, America face-palmed.

Thank the authoress that Russia's stone-walled mansion was so close. America approached the giant wooden double doors with his exhausted burden over one shoulder. China had tired himself out and stopped moving not too long after he started. His breathing had evened out too, becoming shallower, and the nation hadn't reacted when America poked him repeatedly. So, America assumed he'd fallen asleep. It made him easier to carry, at least.

America banged on the door with his free hand.

"Hey! Russia, open up! Move it, commie, China's out here freezing!"

There was a click and a thump from behind the door, which sounded suspiciously like a barricade log being removed. Then, the door on the left swung inwards, and Russia stood in the opening with a smile.

"Hello, Amerika." The larger nation greeted him cheerfully. Then, he noticed the passenger, startled. "Is that China? What happen to him?"

America replied irritably. "I found him in a snowdrift. He's cold, his lips are blue, and he sounded delirious before he fell asleep. I'm pretty sure the dude's got hypothermia."

"He fell asleep?" Russia's expression became worried. "Not good. Not good at all. _Nyet._"

Russia waved him in and America stepped past the door and into the warm air gratefully. He shifted China on his shoulder into what he hoped was a more comfortable position. Then, he followed Russia to the fireplace in a wall of the entry hall. Russia's coat and scarf nearly trailed on the ground.

"Isn't falling asleep supposed to help when you're sick?" America asked cluelessly.

The reply he received was grave. "Not when you have hypothermia, _nyet_."

Russia tossed three more logs onto an already blazing fire. Then, he picked up a fire poker and more kindling, to help make the fire grow. He gestured towards a line of chairs against the opposite wall. They were plain and wooden, much like the front door.

America picked one up with his free hand and brought it over to Russia.

The northern country instructed. "Put chair down near fire. Set China in chair carefully, da."

America did as he'd been told. China didn't so much as twitch through the transfer. After being sat down on the chair, his head lolled onto his chest. Russia stood and came over, having finished feeding the fire. The look on his face didn't ease any worries.

"He'll be okay, right?" America asked.

The older nation's reply was comforting in its own way. "He is nation. He'll live. We must help him though, da."

"Sir, yes sir!" America saluted, cheerful again.

"Get his coat, boots, and ear-thingies off. They are wet. That very not good, da." Russia began walking down the long hallway. He called back with a wave of his hand. "I go get blankets!"

America followed instructions for once in his life and began taking off China's wet winter gear. The coat came first, followed by his boots, and then the earmuffs were easy. He tossed them in a pile next to the fireplace to dry. Russia came back with several wool blankets soon enough, along with a square pillow. The northern nation draped the blankets over China's front torso, setting his arms on top so that they weren't covered.

"Uh, shouldn't you warm up his arms and legs too?" America blurted out the question.

"Nyet." Russia shook his head. He carefully set the pillow behind China's back so that the unconscious country could lean against it comfortably. Then, he spoke. "That is opposite what should be done. Warm up torso first. Doing limbs cause shock. That kill him as easy as cold can, da. Temporarily, of course." He kept smiling.

America looked at him oddly.

_Knock knock knock!_

Both conscious nations swiveled to look at the entrance. Someone was knocking on it. Of course, without the barricade log keeping them shut, both doorsswung open with small creaking sounds. Flurries and high wind blew in through the door, along with two snow-caked nations. They rushed to the doors and slammed them shut, and then the taller one lifted the heavy barricade with effort and fit it in the metal hooks it was meant to rest on. The two tugged off their ice-coated hats and breathed in deeply.

"_Mon dieu!_" The taller one exclaimed. "That was awful! Why did we _ever _agree to come here, _Angleterre_?"

England, the other person, replied. "Because it's common courtesy, frog! We _have _to come here to be polite! Especially considering it's Russia's bloody home. Neither of us _wants _to be here, bloody git!"

Russia didn't physically react to their words, but on the inside, he was crying. On the outside, he kept smiling and said. "France, England, da? We would appreciate little help here."

The two countries who came bursting in just noticed him, and tried to act like they hadn't said anything. They grinned and put their arms around each other's shoulders, keeping fake-happy expressions on their faces. Safety in numbers, they assumed.

"O-of course! What do you need, Russia, old chap?" England stuttered out fearfully.

"_Oui!_" France chimed in. "H-happy to h-help!"

America jumped in front of them and began shouting energetically and rapidly. "We're helping China get better because I found him outside in a snowdrift and now he has hypothermia! You two can help Russia back me up, I'll be the hero, and we'll save China from hypothermia!" Then he blinked and called back to Russia. "Hey, how do we save China from hypothermia?"

* * *

Half an hour later, Germany and Austria were wrapped up in light blue and dark violet winter coats, respectively. Germany had his hood up, and Austria wore lilac-colored earmuffs. Both had cream-colored scarves and black boots. They were shivering in the cold, Austria especially, when they reached the door and Germany knocked on it.

"Open up!" He shouted. "Please, it's freezing out here!"

There was a thump from behind the door and both were whipped open by a cheerful and optimistic America. The younger nation exclaimed. "Yo, Germany! And great to see you again, Austria! C'mon in, dudes!"

They didn't exactly have a choice, as America grabbed both of them by their scarves and dragged the two European nations inside. He kicked the doors shut behind them.

Austria and Germany were greeted by an odd sight in the entrance foyer. China was shivering in a chair, wrapping a blanket around himself. Russia was standing behind the Asian country, rubbing his shoulders. France was offering the shivering nation a steaming cup of something creamy and vanilla, while England poked at the fire with a stick. And a familiar brown-haired figure was next to France, offering China a plate of pasta. Apparently the personification of Northern Italy had arrived before Austria and Germany. Japan wasn't present. He must not've arrived yet.

As America approached China, the suffering nation sneezed, shivered and exclaimed. "This all your fault, America!"

America protested. "What?! Dude, I'm the one who _found_ you out there!"

"I blame you anyway, aru!" China shot back, cold, hungry, and irritated. He took the plate of pasta and a fork from Italy. He slurped at the noodles, cleaning off the plate in no time flat and setting it on the small table next to him.

Germany and Austria shed their coats and dumped them in the pile next to the door. The two new arrivals joined the rest of the group. Germany went over to England to get the story from him, while Austria opted to put the pieces together himself through observation. He took the time to smooth out the blue jacket of his suit and adjust his cravat while watching.

Russia was happily massaging China's shoulders, and the ancient nation didn't actually seem to mind, though that might've been because he wasn't able to feel them. France left the hot drink on the small table placed next to China's chair, and then wandered over to join England and Germany. Italy had latched onto Germany and was happily interjecting his own comments while England tried to talk.

China and America were still arguing. Austria had a bad feeling about it.

"How is this my fault?!"

"China don't know, China don't care!" The sick nation bristled. "This your fault, aru!"

America, not thinking his words through, irritably responded. "Well, if we're gonna play 'Blame the Superpower', then this is all Russia's fault! When you were frozen you kept yelling all about how you didn't want to come inside because Russia was scary!"

.

.

.

Silence. As cold and harsh as the snowstorm raging outside.

.

.

.

Russia suddenly took his hands off of China's shoulders. He stepped back, looking at both China and America in shock. His mouth was a small 'o' of surprise and his eyes were wide open. He took another step away. His expression began morphing from shock to hurt, and then to sadness. He turned and ran down the hallway, scarf whipping behind him, and ducked behind the second door on the right, slamming it closed.

.

.

.

America, voice at a volume more suited to Canada, spoke regretfully. "I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?"

.

.

.

China looked up at America guiltily and asked. "Did I really...aru?"

He received a solemn nod in reply.

.

.

.

The mood broke when China stumbled to his feet and threw the blanket off. He took a step forward, but was immediately grabbed by both Germany and America. He was forced back into his chair, and Italy came running with the blanket. It was wrapped around the ancient nation, whose weak struggles weren't nearly enough to get up again.

"Let me go, aru!" China twisted in the grip of the two holding him down. "China must apologize, aru!" He sneezed again, and then stopped struggling. He knew they weren't going to let him go.

America handed him the warm mug of a vanilla drink France prepared. China took it grudgingly and sipped at it. Then, he said. "I must apologize, aru."

"Dude, _I _need to apologize." America responded. "I'm the one who blurted it out."

China shook his head, denying it. He could only look down into his drink, not able to meet anyone's eyes. "I was one who made you say it, aru. And I was one who say it first."

America didn't reply right away. He seemed to be thinking. Then, he lifted China's chair above his head with the elder country still on it. "Let's both go apologize!" He took a step forward.

China was startled, and gripped the edge of his seat with white knuckled terror. "_Aiyah!_ Put me down, aru!" He exclaimed.

England shouted admonishingly. "Neither of _you_ can go say your sorries just yet! Seeing either of your faces will only make Russia even _more _upset, you gits!"

"Oh..." America set China and his chair back down on the floor. The still-ill nation sipped at his drink, pale-faced. The exertion wasn't good for him.

America happily exclaimed. "Hey, I know!" He eagerly looked at the group by the fire, made up of the France, England, Italy, and Germany. "One of you guys can go talk to him!"

England balked. "Uh, I don't-, that's not strictly necessary-"

"Mon ami," France nervously laughed. "I-, ah, Russia probably needs some time alone-"

Italy waved a white flag.

Even Germany was hesitant. "I, well, perhaps we should let him calm down first. You know how he gets-"

America cut them off angrily. "Well, if me an' China can't go, why can't you? C'mon! Someone has to!"

"N-no, I just-"

"Nein, I'm sorry-"

"We have to help _notre ami, _China!"

"White flag! White flag, see!"

It was a mess of waving hands, weak protests, and shallow excuses. America was on one side, trying to convince someone to go, or to allow himself and China to speak to Russia. Germany, Italy, France, and England were on the other, panicking and very much unwilling to confront their most frightening friend. If they could even call him a friend. China was just shivering in the middle.

"Tch." Austria scoffed at them all. He glared condescendingly. "You're all a bunch of cowards!"

They fell silent, all eyes on him. He looked at each person with contempt, before glancing over China and America, softening his gaze. "Well, a bunch of cowards, an invalid, and a moron."

The four European nations looked guilty as charged, while the other two looked affronted.

Austria continued. "I will go."

Then, he left, taking long, determined strides out of the entrance foyer and down the hallway. He reached the same door Russia had gone through. He opened it, stepped inside the room, and shut the door behind him.

England quietly admitted. "Bugger, he's braver than I thought."

* * *

Inside the room, Austria took in his surroundings. It was fairly large, and decorated with spring colors. There were two cream-colored couches and an green armchair surrounding a glass coffee table. The carpet was a light tan, and the walls were faded yellow. A blue rug was in the middle of the room. On the other side of the room from the couches, there was a kitchenette, refrigerator included. A television was mounted on the wall. All in all, it was rather nice.

And there was a balcony. On one wall were glass double doors that opened out onto a pristine, white balcony. There was snow on it, but only a thin layer. And standing on the balcony, leaning against the railing, was Russia. He was looking out at something in his backyard.

Austria approached slowly, but with confidence.

"Hello." Russia said, not turning around. He hadn't given any sign that he'd noticed Austria before.

"Oh, hello." Austria greeted him calmly. The musician stepped out onto the balcony and joined Russia leaning on the railing. He glanced away from the larger country and looked out at the backyard. His eyes widened.

What he saw astonished and amazed him.

How had America put it at the meeting? Russia's hobby? A _snow garden_. That didn't even begin to describe the sight before him.

Statues, constructs of snow, sparkling, frozen works of art. They were dotted all around as far as the eye could see. A giant sunflower head with its petals swaying. An enormous oak tree waving in the wind. A rabbit resting on the ground, one ear twitching. A fountain spouting, spraying water. All made out of snow. All frozen in a single moment of time.

There were more surreal things too. Tall, thin towers of ice and snow, arranged in circle with a spiral inside. An abstract, wavy, grid-like thing. Half a pyramid.

So, so many. A Rubik's cube. A honeycomb. A maze. A camelia bush. An ocean wave. A giant sheet of clear, wavy ice that reflected light the way water did. Children. Families. Angels, and small birds, and a variety of animals. So many things. Some super-sized, some life-sized, some in-between. And winding in and around everything were swirling, wandering pathways of packed snow, patterned to look like cobblestone.

Incredible. Beautiful. Wonderful.

Austria spoke aloud before he realized it.

"Nature waving in a breeze,

Water falling through the air,

The crests of a crashing sea,

Life growing everywhere.

.

Angels with wings of ice,

Little birds captured mid-flight,

Toys and games that children play,

Families from happy days.

.

All in this garden.

Here to stay."

He paused, stared out at the garden, and smiled.

Russia looked at him and asked. "Did you just make that up?"

Austria blushed, but admitted. "Yes, yes I did."

Russia stared at him blankly for a moment. And then, he said. "You are very good with words, da."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. It was an amiable silence.

"Did you make this all yourself?" Austria asked, reviving the conversation.

"Da." Russia nodded. "But General Winter keeps it from melting. Nothing here will ever thaw."

.

.

.

Silence again.

.

.

.

This time, Russia spoke. "Have you noticed what everything here has in common?"

Austria responded immediately. "Spring. It reminds you of spring."

"Da." Russia looked out at his garden again. "You are clever. Like Amerika when he wants to be. But you are clever in different way."

Austria took the opening. "About America, what he mentioned with China-"

"_Nyet._" Russia cut him off. "I forgive both of them. And I forgive others for being too chicken."

Austria raised an eyebrow at that. "How did you...?"

Russia smiled a sad smile, and his eyes reflected the same acceptance. "Is always what happen, no? Everyone is afraid of big, bad Russia. Even friends..."

"..." Austria didn't reply right away. Then, he straightened up, and looked his companion in the eye. "Not everyone is afraid. That blabbermouth America isn't. China is willing to overcome it. The others could too, with help." He stood firm under Russia's gaze. "And I'm not afraid either."

Russia didn't know how to respond. He simply looked dumbstruck. But his smile showed how grateful he was to hear Austria's words. Then, he changed the topic. "My snow garden. Is hobby, da. Rest of world become distant because of hobby. I find hobby because rest of world is distant. Is cycle, da?"

Austria nodded. _'I wonder where he's going with this.'_

"World is distant. Even now, when world try to make friends, Russia is too scary. Everyone is afraid of Russia."

_'This is getting repetitive.'_ Austria thought. But he kept smiling, because it was a nice moment still.

_BANG!_

Austria nearly leaped out of his skin. A waterpipe was suddenly smashed into the railing, and the wooden railing didn't stand a chance. It was shattered into splinters, all of them falling down over the balcony. Suddenly, Austria noticed that they were very far from the ground. Elevation behind the house was lower than in front of it. He felt dizzy. He looked back to Russia. The northern nation had one hand on the waterpipe, and the other... the other held his glasses. Austria numbly felt his face where his glasses should've been. They weren't there. When had Russia grabbed them?

Russia took a step forward, and Austria took a step back. The musician could feel his heart pounding.

"You step back." Russia said. His expression was flat, cold, and unreadable, but the tone of his voice carried heavy warning. "Why? Because you are afraid. Afraid of Russia."

There was a raging storm of emotions in his eyes. Longing. Anger. Sadness. Joy. Pain. Most of all, there was pain. And as Austria gazed into those eyes a lighter shade of violet than his own, he saw something incredibly _broken _behind them. The insanity and cruelty that everyone knew was there from his actions. It was as Austria had thought before. Russia, so hurt and so hopeful he'd break your bones and your heart if you got to know him.

"Good." Russia tucked the pipe into his coat again. He smiled, that sweet, childlike, close-eyed smile that was both charming and terrifying. When Russia looked at him once more, his eyes were clouded and unreadable again, even if his expression was happy. He continued speaking. "You should be."

The words echoed in his mind.

_'You are afraid. Afraid of Russia.'_

Russia gestured for Austria to follow him back to the rest of the group. He did, dazedly.

_'Good. You should be.'_

* * *

**AN: **Wow, another update this quickly. XP I never expected to finish this chapter so fast, especially considering it's length. Anyway, what do you all think? Thoughts and opinions on Russia? Leave it all in a review, please!

Oh, and there's a poll on my profile related to a future chapter, so please take the time to vote.


	8. Winter Wonderland part 2

**AN: **A continuation of the last chapter! Because we all want to know what happens next. ^^ And a quick note-I don't do shipping. No matter what some of you may see in this chapter between Austria and Russia, or America and Russia, that is not romance. Filthy fangirls. XP

Oh, and there's going to be a third part to this. ;)

* * *

_**Winter Wonderland part 2**_

Dazedly, Austria followed Russia off the snowy balcony and into the room. He made sure to close the glass balcony doors to keep the warm air in. Russia got to the door leading to the hallway and grabbed the handle. Austria was right behind him. The musician nearly had a heart attack when Russia's other hand reached towards his face. He froze, trembling like a Baltic nation. Deep purple eyes crossed as Russia gently placed something on his face. His sight was obscured. Then the hand lifted away.

Austria was surprised to find his glasses perched on his nose once more.

He blinked.

"Wh-... What?"

Russia smiled kindly and said. "You like your glasses, da? They are nice. Very delicate, like sunflower petal. Da."

"I..." Austria found the moment rather surreal, considering Russia's violent outburst not two minutes ago. "I don't actually need them. I just look too plain without them." He didn't know why he was still talking to a man not entirely sane.

The reply he received was disturbing, considering who it was coming from. Russia nodded along as he spoke. "Your face. With glasses and Mariazell. Reminds me of Amerika."

No words followed that comment from either one of them. Russia pulled open the door and let Austria walk through first. The musician kept an eye on the larger country as they headed back towards the entry foyer. He didn't feel entirely comfortable with his back to the northern nation. Not that facing him was much better. They kept walking. Slowly.

_Tap tap tap._ _Mmph mmph mmph._

On the wooden floorboards, Austria's dainty footsteps created a quiet tapping that echoed off the white walls. Behind him, larger, deeper, and more muffled, were the soft thumps of Russia's walking gait. He tried to ignore them, but subconciously, he increased his pace. They rounded the corner quickly and found a surprise guest in the entrance hall.

Japan.

Shivering even more than China and wrapped in a blanket, he sat in an identical chair right next to his older brother by the fire. The two Asian countries sneezed in unison. France came over to Japan with a second mug of something hot and steaming, handing it to the island nation with a pat on the back.

"A-arigatou." Japan took it gratefully with shaking hands.

"Vous êtes les bienvenus,_ mon ami_."

England spotted the two in front of the hallway first. He nudged America.

"Yo!" America turned and waved as soon as he spotted them. "I totally rescued Japan while you two were in there!"

England shot him down. "He stumbled through the bloody door, you twat."

"I still helped a lot!"

* * *

_Not too long ago..._

"Bugger." England said softly, gazing contemplatively at the door Austria shut behind him a second ago. "He's braver than I thought."

There came a silence, thick and foreboding, that drowned them in it's wreathes.

"A-achoo!" China sneezed.

That broke it.

"More pasta, aru!" China demanded from Italy. The ditsy nation's face broke out into a bright smile and he put his white flag away. He rushed down the hallway, presumably to a fully-stocked kitchen somewhere, more than happy to comply with China's order.

Those others remaining in the entrance hall began milling about aimlessly. France and England started chatting about something that happened over two centuries ago. Germany started poking at a sword and shield hanging on the wall, wondering if they were real. China just kept shivering. Everyone seemed determined to forget what had just happened with Russia. Then, surprisingly, it was America who remembered that they were missing someone from their ragtag number of misfits.

He started counting on his fingers. With a glance at the door Russia and Austria had passed through, he began. "One, two." A glance down the hallway Italy ran down. "Three." Looking by the fire. "Four." Next to the wall. "Five." In the middle of the room. "Six, seven." And then himself. "Eight."

"Hey, guys!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. "We're still missing Japan!"

Italy came skipping back to the entrance foyer with a plate of pasta in hand. He rushed over to China and passed it to the shivering Asian. Then, he clapped his hands together and happily said. "Ve~! I bet Japan'll be here soon! He's never late!"

Germany tugged a piece of paper out of his back pocket and unfolded it. He seemed to read through it, and check his watch. Then he told everyone. "_Nein_, he's already late. Japan was supposed to be here half an hour ago."

"Perhaps his flight was delayed." France suggested with a shrug.

"It _was_ snowing something awful out there." England put in.

China sneezed again and irritably shouted with a mouthful of pasta. "Jus' call 'im al'eady!" He swallowed, and then added. "Aru!"

America quickly fumbled his cell phone out of his jacket and began dialing. "I'll do it." He held the phone to his ear.

Something sounded from outside the door. It was muffled from behind the thick wood, filtered through static, and broken, but it was recognizable.

_Mar-r-r-rukaite chikyuu_

_J-J-Jitto mi-i-ite chik-kyuu_

_Hyotto shit-t-t-te chikyuu_

_N-Niho-o-o-on to moushima-a-asu_

It was Japan's ringtone.

The unbarricaded doors swung open when something thumped against them heavily. Clumsy footsteps brought in a shivering, half-conscious Japan who was blue in the face. He was hardly dressed for the weather at all! A thin, blue cloak and scarf were all he wore over his usual clothes. The new arrival turned his head to look at everyone in the room. He smiled weakly.

"K-konichiwa."

His eyes suddenly glazed, and then closed, and the smile fell off his face. He collapsed. America, being closest to the door, tackled forward and caught the island nation before he hit the ground.

Germany took charge.

"Bring him over to China! France, close the doors. Britain, grab another chair. Italy, find another blanket, now!"

They scrambled to follow orders. Italy ran back down the hallway again, opening and closing doors as he searched, though he skipped the one occupied room. France shoved the weighty doors shut again, and dragged the barricade plank back into place. England raced to the line of chairs along one wall and took the one to the right of a familiar, taped-up chair that he gaped at the sight of. He shoved the image to the back of his mind and brought his chair over to China. America carried Japan over his shoulder and carefully set the sleeping country into the second chair England brought.

Japan's head limply hung over the back of the chair. His arms were loose at his side.

Germany put a hand over Japan's forehead. "He's cold."

France asked. "What now, _soldat garçon_?"

Germany whipped around and stared at America in a way that gave the younger nation an urge to salute. "America!" Germany shouted, military-like. "Tell me in great detail what you and Russia did to China while he was unconscious!"

America started laughing.

France gained a leer.

China looked horrified.

England was just disgusted.

"What?" Germany realized what he said. His face reddened. "Wait, no! That came out wrong!"

"HAHA-HAHA-HAHA!"

"Ohonhon!"

"China never-!"

"Disgusting, uncivilized-"

Germany yelled. "Shut up! Stop laughing! JAPAN IS SICK HERE!"

That dampened the mood quickly. For once, a majority of the G8 was completely serious while being in the same room. They sobered up and listened.

"Good, you're paying attention now." Germany looked at them all like a parent would misbehaving children. "America, what did Russia tell you about treating hypothermia?"

The reply was quick and to the point. "He said not to warm up the dude's arms or legs first, 'cause that'd cause shock. Oh, and to get rid of any wet clothes first!"

China's horrified expression returned immediately. He screeched. "RUSSIA UNDRESS CHINA?!"

"It was only your winter gear! And I was the one who took it off!" America tried to placate the conscious and panicking Asian country.

China yelled back. "That not much better, aru!"

France interjected flirtatiously. "Well, now, China. _Pourquoi_, if I had arrived sooner, _I_ could've been the one to aid you in your time of need."_  
_

China paled considerably. "On second thought, America not so bad, aru. I take back comment."

Just then, with perfect timing, Italy came running back. He waved a two-colored blanket that was made to look like China's national flag behind him. He bounced to a stop in front of Germany and exclaimed. "Hey, guys! Look-a what I found-a! It's a blanket! From-a Russia's bedroom!"

China adopted his horrified expression again. "I greatly disturbed."

Italy then pulled out a well-worn pillow with the American flag patterned on it. And a chibi outline of America's face stitched in the middle. The ditsy personification of Northern Italy cheerfully shouted. "I found-a this there too!"

America patted China's shoulder comfortingly. He said to the older nation. "You and me both, dude." He laughed nervously. "But it's just Russia's way of showing he likes us! I think."

They all calmed down a little, and Germany wrapped Japan's torso in the blanket. They put the pillow behind Japan's head, upside down so that the stitching wasn't visible. Because honestly, who wouldn't find that a little creepy? Besides Russia, of course, but he's a strange guy.

France left down the hallway the same direction as Italy had when he made pasta. "I'll brew up another hot, _délicieux_ beverage for when _notre ami_ wakes up."

"Just remember, Russia said no caffeine or alcohol, frog!" England yelled.

But the Frenchman was already out of earshot. He'd probably remember on his own, anyway.

"Wanker."

Just then, Japan stirred. England's shouting had dragged his mind out of the warm abyss it had fallen into. His eyelids slid half-open, and his head tilted back into an upright position. Japan blinked blearily, and dragged one clammy hand up to his face. He rubbed his eyes. The fuzzy blobs of color he'd seen before sharpened into clarity, and Japan saw his friends. He shivered. The island nation took the red blanket around his torso and wrapped it over his shoulders. He looked to his side and saw China, looking at a blazing fireplace, wrapped in a tan-colored wool blanket. No one had noticed Japan awake yet.

And that was when he noticed that the blanket he wrapped around himself wasn't only red. It was gold too, with the stars of China's flag. He thought it was rather odd. Then, he realized that there was something cushioning his neck. Slowly, carefully, he tugged it out. Even stranger, a pillow patterned with America's flag. He turned it over, and was profoundly weirded out by the chibi face on stitched into the center. But wait, hadn't he been going to Russia, not China or America?

"_Ano_... Whose are these?" He asked no one in particular.

Those present in the room turned their heads to look at him in surprise.

"Japan! Bro, you're alive!" America exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. Then he corrected himself. "No, wait, I mean you're awake!"

China smiled and said. "China glad to see you wake up, _Rìběn_."

Italy cheered. "Pasta~!" And ran off, presumably to make some.

Germany clapped Japan on the shoulder. "Good to see you're okay."

"Hmph." England turned away. "I wasn't worried."

Japan was surprised at the reactions of his friends. He didn't even remember what had happened. Or why he was so cold. He shivered again, and pulled the blanket around his shoulders tighter. He turned the pillow over and set it on his knees. Looking at all the faces of his companions, he could gather that something had happened to him. He didn't particularly want to deal with that at the moment though, and so chose a different topic.

"You still have not answered my question. Whose are these?" He looked at the pillow and blanket on him confusedly.

England was the one who answered. "Russia's."

Japan was silent for a while. "That is... how you say... creepy."

"You have no idea, aru." China muttered.

And that was when France came back with a steaming mug on a tray. Ever the gourmet, even in Siberia. (For anyone who doesn't know, Siberia is a geographical region encompassing much of Northern Asia, and historically it's a part of Russia.) He sashayed over to the group and bowed to one knee to present the tray and mug formally. He smirked.

"Your order?" He lifted the mug off the tray and handed it to Japan.

The island nation took it gratefully with shaking hands. "A-Arigatou."

"Vous êtes les bienvenus,_ mon ami_."

Then, France stood up and tossed the tray over his shoulder haphazardly. It nearly hit Germany in the head, but France didn't seem to notice or care.

England spotted Austria and Russia standing under the arch that marked the start of the main hallway. He blinked once in surprise, not really having expected Austria to come out in one piece. Then he nudged the person next to him, America. The younger nation turned and spotted the two under the arch. His face brightened with a grin, and he waved.

"Yo! I totally rescued Japan while you two were in there!"

England smacked his elbow. "He stumbled through the bloody door, you twat."

"I still helped a lot!"

"Wanker."

Then, Italy came running back. He held a plate of pasta in hand, leaving a dust cloud trailing behind him on the floor. "Ve~!" Then he noticed the two people standing at the end of the hall, in his way. "Ve~?" Both of them turned around. Austria... and Russia! "Veeeee~!" Italy skidded to a stop just before he crashed into them, hands shaking. Tears of fear gathered in the corners of his eyes. "V-v-ve~?"

"Oh, hello Italy." Russia greeted him warmly.

Italy screamed. "V-veee! Germany, help me please! Ve! Ve!" He pulled out one of his backup white flags and started waving it one-handedly for all he was worth. "Ve! Ve! White flag, I surrender! Germany, help!"

But it was Austria who acted.

The aloof aristocrat grabbed his hand and ripped the white flag away. Italy reached for it desperately, but Austria held him back with his other arm. The irritated musician slapped Italy's snatching hand away.

"Calm down, Italy. Russia isn't going to hurt you. Today." He admonished his ex-charge. While berating the pasta-loving ditz, he wondered why he was defending Russia. The man had just about threatened him and nearly injured him. But there was something in the way he'd looked at him before that incident with the pipe and the railing... Pleading, hopeful, and very much human.

Austria shook his head once to rid himself of those confusing thoughts. In his moment of weakness, Italy snatched back his white flag and ran past them. The personification of North Italy took the time to set his plate of pasta down on the small table stand next to China. Then, he glomped Germany.

Then, Russia clapped his hands together and said. "Okay, bedtime now."

At that announcement, several of the European countries and both Asians sighed or yawned in relief.

"But I'm not tired at all!" America protested.

England muttered something that sounded like. "Hyperactive git."

"Oh, yes." Austria realized. "There's a big time difference between here and your place, isn't there?" It wasn't really a question. More a statement, Austria-style.

Russia happily said. "In that case, you can stay up a while, Amerika. Da, someone has to make sure the China and Japan don't asleep."

"_N-nani_?!" Japan exclaimed. Then he sneezed. "Achoo!"

"Wha'?!" China looked more upset than Japan. "What you mean we not sleep? China need rest, aru! We tired, aru!"

Russia explained calmly. "Hypothermia. Remember, da?" He turned his head to look at America while he instructed. "Don't let them fall sleepy until they back to normal temperature."

"You got it, dude!"

Russia motioned for everyone else to follow him. He'd show them all to their rooms. Those who were allowed to get some rest filed after him happily. Germany called back to the three in remaining in the foyer. "The thermometer's on the table next to the pasta. Gute nacht."

"G'night, dudes!" America yelled in reply. "The Hero'll make sure China and Japan can't sleep! Everyone knows I'm the best at it!"

England muttered to France with a snicker. "No one's contesting that."

America walked over to the line of chairs and reached out for one. "I'll just grab a seat for the night!"

Suddenly, faster than he'd ever moved before, England was there, and slapped America's hand away from the chair it was going for. "No! Not that one!"

He tossed the taped-up chair into the fireplace, and the flames turned a deep red before going back to normal. They began eating at the wood. England sighed in relief before rushing back to the group following Russia. America blinked in confusion. Then, he shrugged and grabbed a different chair, dragging it over to face Japan and China.

"Whatever, Iggy dude."

He sat down across from the two shivering nations. There was a bit of an awkward silence. It lasted a few minutes. Then, America pointed to the still-warm plate of Italy's pasta.

"Hey, Japan bro, you gonna eat that?"

Japan sneezed. "Achoo!" And he sniffled. Then, he shivered, though whether it was from the hypothermia or the prospect of swallowing that much pasta is up to debate. "No, thank you. You may have it."

"More for us, eh China?"

China smugly took a pair of chopsticks from his pocket and passed the fork from the plate to America. "_Tài hǎole_."

"Hey, Japan." America scooted his chair closer to the table. It'd be easier for him and China to share the plate that way. "What is it you always say at your place? Itadakimasu?"

At that moment, Japan's stomach growled. His cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment. He answered America's question. "Hai. Itadakimasu. But you already knew-"

China interrupted him by passing him a second pair of chopsticks. He looked at them in his hand, surprised. He glanced at China's face. The older country was smiling.

"T-thank you..." Japan said. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders with one hand. The fact that it looked like China's flag suddenly became embarrassing. He hesitated. "_Arigatou_... Nii-san." Thank you... big brother.

China froze. His mind sputtered to a stop. For a moment, he couldn't think. _'Brother... Japan hasn't called me that in... long, long time. I... I...' _Then, he knew how to reply. It was simple, really. But there was more meaning in the words that followed than could ever have been explained if you weren't there.

"_Bùyòng xiè_... Dì dì." No need to thank me... little brother.

.

.

.

Different languages. Different cultures. Different people. Different views. But family underneath it all.

.

.

.

"Itadakimasu!" America exclaimed. Somehow, he didn't break the mood. He just joined in.

China and Japan shared small, secret smiles and then looked away from each other and back to the pasta.

In unison, they said. "Itadakimasu!"

* * *

An hour and a half later, America looked at the readout of a digital thermometer in happy relief. In front of him, nestled in their blankets, China and Japan were both asleep. Both had their legs tucked in underneath them on the chairs, and unconsciously, they were leaning on each other over the armrests. Japan's head lolled on China's shoulder, and China's head rested on Japan's hair. In the firelight, their faces looked content with Japan's mouth in a small 'o' and China wearing a tiny grin. Now, America was a fairly oblivious person with an inclination for guns and violence. But you'd have to be absolutely heartless to look on the scene like he did and not think it sweet.

Lightly, so that the sound wouldn't disturb any much needed rest, he set the thermometer down on the table next to an empty plate with two sets of chopsticks and a fork on top. He leaned back in his own chair. America absentmindedly checked his watch, which had been set to Russian time. Only 11:30. He had the rest of the night to go, and he just couldn't sleep. Stupid time difference. He got out of the chair, wincing at the creaking sound it made. Everything seemed louder when other people were asleep.

Carefully, America tip-toed around China and Japan, cautious not to bump into the table and rattle the plate. He sat down behind their chairs, facing the fireplace. After taking off his shoes first, he crossed his legs and scooted closer to the flames. The cold of the floorboards seeped through his jeans, and he shivered a little. Everything was just so _icy _this far north. Even in summer. He rubbed his hands together and held them over the dying blaze. It was growing colder by the minute. He shivered again, closing his eyes.

_Thunk. _

He opened his eyes. Another log had been tossed onto the fire. The flames grew and roared as they fed on the new wood.

_Thunk._

A second log. Those would burn for a while yet.

America followed the arc of the second log thrown and found it's start at the gloved hands of a familiar companion. Russia, still fully-dressed in his overcoat, scarf, and gloves, sat down next to him. He assumed a similar sitting position. For a few moments more, there remained an awkward silence. Then began a quiet conversation.

"Russia?"

"Da?"

"What're you doing here, dude?"

Russia tugged off his gloves while listening to the question. He tilted his head to the side, thinking about it contemplatively. He gazed into the burning logs.

"I am... enjoying fireplace. Besides, Japan have my blanket and pillow."

"Oh... okay."

They sat there in a frozen sort of silence. The chill of the floorboards made America shiver. At the motion, Russia turned his head to look at his companion. The northern nation began reaching into his coat. America noticed the movement.

"Woah! Russia, what-"

Russia pulled out a light green blanket. The larger nation draped it around America's shoulders and then went back to watching the fire. America ran his fingers along the edge of the crisp cloth covering. He pulled it tighter around himself and kept caressing the surface. It was smooth, and clean, and old. And, oddly enough, soothing. The warm weight of it was comforting.

America put a hand on Russia's shoulder. It caught the elder country's attention. America smiled, and said. "Thanks."

Russia was caught off guard by the simple gesture. He awkwardly replied. "You're... welcome."

The silence came again, but warmer this time. Less wary and hostile.

"Hey, Russia?"

"Da?"

A question, pointed and direct, but softened by tone of voice, was asked.

"Why're you really here?"

Those harsher words put Russia at ease. He wasn't used to being thanked. It was kindness, something that from others was alien to him. But cruelty at any level he could deal with. Russia was used to it, after all. In his experience, honesty was the best policy- as long as it was on home turf. And he was.

"I want to talk. About Austria, da."

"Really?" America was pleasantly surprised.

"Da. Really." Russia was prepared for a taunting response.

What he got instead broke down nearly every barrier he had. "Well, go on then. I'm listening, bro."

Russia didn't know how to respond. There were so many things that were _wrong _in that sentence. Where was the insult? The 'commie b*stard' he was waiting to hear? The warning to stay away from Austria? None of it was _right_. 'Go on then'? 'I'm listening'? This was America he was speaking to. America... America didn't make friendly conversation. America didn't listen. Not to Russia. Not with Russia. Anyone but Russia. Russia wasn't supposed to be treated that way. And then... And then he could only reply.

"Bro? What... What does Amerika mean?"

America answered with a shrug. "Bro means bro, ya know? I'd like to think we're close enough pals for the Hero to call ya 'bro'! It's more personal than 'dude'. So, what's up with Austria? You got a new friend, bro?"

With those words, Russia's delicate stranglehold on rational thought began to loosen. Two words kept running through his mind. _'Not right not right not right not right...'_ He froze. He couldn't move. He wouldn't move.

"Russia, bro, you okay?" America uncrossed his legs and shook Russia's shoulder gently.

Russia reacted the only way he knew was safe. With a pipe.

_Smack!_

America jumped backwards, startled, and flipped on his hands to get rid of the extra momentum. When he landed, stable, he looked back. Where he'd been kneeling before, there was now cracked flooring and a familiar waterpipe. He widened his eyes at the realization.

"Russia, what the h*ll was that for?! Bro, we were just-"

He caught a glimpse of the expression on Russia's face and choked on his words. Now, America didn't usually bother to read people. But everything about Russia at that moment just _screamed _'Don't touch me'! America looked away from the person and at the pipe. Meeting his gaze might push him over the edge. Then, Russia turned his head away, looking down into the fire rather than at America. The red-orange light glinted off his pale violet eyes. They were clouded. And wet. He spoke softly.

"Amerika. Go down main hallway. Your room is third in second hall on right. China and Japan has rooms across from you. Take them. I do not wish harm. Da. Go, comrade."

America did as he was told very quickly. He took the blankets off the still-slumbering Asian countries. China was tossed over his shoulder again, and Japan was supported like a drunk, his feet dragging along the floor. America hoped they wouldn't mind if they ever found out. He carried them off.

* * *

Russia looked up again, as America left the entrance foyer. His grip on his waterpipe was slack, but strong. His boots were glued to the floor. And he didn't twitch a muscle as he watched his friend leave. But his heart skipped a beat when America looked back just before passing out of view. Then he was gone. But in that moment, Russia saw in those blue eyes not fear, but a person who was truly concerned about him. A worried friend.

Hah.

There was that word again.

Friend.

He looked down at his boots while he thought. Russia's friends weren't supposed to see him as one. They were supposed to be afraid of him. How else was he supposed to make sure they stayed by him? How else could he trust them? And how else could he keep them safe?

"Kol!"

His face twisted into a furious snarl.

"Kol!"

He smashed his pipe into the floor again.

"Kol!"

He pounded it into China's empty chair, breaking it.

"Kol!"

He picked up the blanket he'd given America. It was sitting on the ground.

"Kol."

He bundled it into a wad and swung his arm back, prepared to throw it into the fire.

"Kol..."

Russia's shoulders were shaking. His hands trembled. His arm fell loosely at his side, the blanket unfurling.

.

.

.

Something fell onto the floor, making a small, wet circle on the wood.

.

.

.

Russia reached up and touched his own cold cheek with two ungloved fingers. It was wet, and dripping.

"I'm leaking vodka again." Russia spoke aloud, unknowingly. "I haven't done this for long, long time."

He took steps to the window and looked through it. Outside the glass panes, it was snowing lightly in the dark night. Suddenly, he noticed how _tired _he was. Russia turned around, whipping his scarf behind him, and made his way back to his own bedroom. Right after picking up his blanket and pillow from Japan's chair. Even with all the emotional strife China and America had caused him that day, he felt that he needed those items to remind himself of his two closest friends.

Russia collapsed into his bed after shrugging off his overcoat. The scarf stayed on. He wrapped himself in his blanket and hugged his pillow to his chest. He closed his eyes.

.

.

.

_Plink. Plink. Plink. _

.

.

.

_Plink. Plink. Plink._

Was that a piano? Yes, yes it was. It seemed that Austria was still awake. The music was rather calming. It was simple, just three notes over and over again. The lowest note of the trio first, then the highest, then the one in the middle. Over... and over... It was soothing, like snowfall. Actually, it rather reminded him of snowfall.

Low. High. Middle.

_Do. Mi. Re._

.

.

.

_Do. Mi. Re._

Russia was getting sleepy. And that song was very nice. Sweet, and lonely, and cold, and broken, but hopeful all the same. Like... snowfall.

.

.

.

_Do. Mi. Re._

.

.

.

_Do. Mi. Re._

For some inexplicable reason, Russia found himself crying again. Or rather, leaking vodka, as he put it. But he wasn't sad. Or really happy. Or even mad. He wasn't feeling anything at all, really. Just very, very... _tired._

.

.

.

_Do. Mi. Re._

* * *

**AN:** Please don't kill me for this awful ending. I know I jumped around a lot, but that's just how this chapter turned out. I'll be writing a part three soon, so I'd really like to know your thoughts on this chapter, maybe compared to the previous. Please review!

And there's still the poll up on my profile. It'll influence a future chapter one-shot, so please vote too!


	9. Winter Wonderland part 3

**AN: **Here it is! The conclusion to the 'Winter Wonderland' arc. ^^ I love writing this story.

* * *

_**Winter Wonderland part 3**_

The next day, just a little while after sunrise, the nations were beginning to swim up from the depths of their dreams.

Japan was nearly the first to awake, and was rather mortified to find himself haphazardly splayed on a bed with a blanket kicked onto the floor. He was even in the same clothes as the day before. The island nation then remembered that he hadn't gone to bed last night. He sat up, confused, and looked around the room. It was of average size, his bed against one wall, a nightstand right by it. Wooden floor, white walls, and a red rug. Then, next to the bed, was the small suitcase he'd packed.

A while after, following a quick bath and all the usual morning preparations, Japan stepped out of his guest room. The early riser had changed his clothes, and was now dressed casually in a red tracksuit. He closed the door behind him without looking, and then glanced around the hallway. It seemed that Russia had an entire guest wing. Up and down from where he stood, there were other very similar doors set into the walls. Tiny flags were stuck into pegs next to eight of the doors, four on either wall, each one the national symbol of a country. Japan's room had his white flag and with the red circle.

_'Well.'_ He thought. _'This is certainly one way to organize.'_

Taking in the order of their rooms, Japan noted that China's was next to his, and America's across from him. He then looked side to side at either end of the offshoot hallway. On one end was a circular room with many windows, and Japan could see several string and woodwind instruments on stands, along with the back side of the grand piano. He looked away to the other end of the hall, and to his great relief, recognized part of the main hallway. Quickly, he walked to it. When he turned the corner, the scent of sweet porridge and cooking meat assailed his senses.

His stomach growled, and that immediately settled which way to go. Japan followed his nose to the large kitchen France and Italy had used the night before.

Once he passed the doorway of the kitchen, he was greeted by a _very_ strange sight. It was the type of scene you A) try to ignore and forget as soon as possible, or B) memorize for possible blackmail. Considering who it was that he was looking at, Japan chose option A. It was rather difficult to accomplish, however.

"Ah, Japan!" Germany greeted. "Good to see you up early. I hope you're feeling much better."

Japan could only nod and stare at his friend dumbly. The European country was behind the sink, washing out a kettle, two plates, two mugs, and several small pots. The area around him could only be described as gleaming, spick and span. He wore yellow rubber gloves and had a dish rag draped around his neck. Ever the neat freak, Germany. The cheery expression then disappeared as Germany turned back to the black pot in his hands and began scraping at its bottom with a vengeance. You could almost hear the mental chant of 'Die, die, die'.

The island nation pulled out a chair at the large, circular table and turned his attention to the kitchen's other occupant. Though staring at him was infinitely more dangerous than Germany, he somehow couldn't drag his eyes off the imposing figure of Russia. In a red sweater, bunny slippers, and yellow apron. Who with a spatula in hand, fried thick slices of sausage in a pan. While occasionally stirring a steaming pot of porridge. Japan was beginning to understand where the phrase 'Mother Russia' had originated, and it certainly wasn't in Korea.

"Breakfast will be ready in few moment!" Russia exclaimed with bright morning cheer. "Just wait!"

"H-Hai." Japan stuttered out in reply.

He noticed Germany making an odd movement out of the corner of his eye. The meticulous nation had taken off one glove and palmed his cell phone, surreptitiously thumbing buttons. Then, when he finished, the device was quietly slid back into a pocket. Germany went back to cleaning last night's dishes.

_Beep._

The almost inaudible noise signaled the arrival of a message on Japan's own cell phone. The island nation pulled it out of his pocket and checked it. He'd received a text from America, forwarded to his address by Germany.

_'To: Germany_

_From: AmericatheHERO_

_Forwarded to: Japan, China, Austria, England, and French-kiss22_

**_Hey! :) _**

**_Don't talk 2 Rus abt yesterday if U want 2 live._**

**_YOLO, dude! _**_'_

Well, it was direct if nothing else. Then, Japan noticed the attached message from Germany.

_'To: AmericatheHERO, Japan, China, Austria, England, and French-kiss22_

_From: Germany_

**_It took ne four ninutes to decode Anerica's nessage._**

**_Sinplified, it reads: Don't talk to Russia about yesterday if you want to live._**

**_Anerica, I appreciate your paranoid need for encoding,_**

**_but please refrain fron doing so in nessages not pertaining to _**

**_national security. And no one forward this to Italy. He'll just get nervous. _**_'_

Germany really needed to get caught up with modern culture. At least enough to recognize text speak when he saw it. And to properly text the letter 'm'. Japan sweat-dropped. Then, he quickly hid the device in his pocket again, glancing up to check if Russia had noticed. Thankfully, he hadn't.

Japan sat back in his chair and relaxed a little, though he was a bit curious as to why Russia would be upset when he'd seemed to have calmed down after talking to Austria. Of course, since it was Russia, it was probably best not to ask. Suddenly, another person stumbled into the kitchen. It was China, half asleep and irritable, with his own cell phone in sleeved hand. Japan's older brother pulled up a chair next to the island nation and plopped himself down. He rubbed his eyes with one sleeve, yawning, and then slammed an arm on the table.

"China hungry!"

"Food be done soon!" Russia called back. "I much hope China enjoys it!"

China froze, paling at the sound of that voice, and his eyes snapped open. He took a proper look at the cook for the first time. The sweater, apron, and slippers had thrown him off when he'd first entered half-awake. Of course, the signature scarf was a big tipoff that he could only blame himself for missing. He looked down at the screen of his phone, and then tucked it away nervously.

"A-a-aiyah..." China forced his mouth into a twitching smile. "Thank you, a-aru!"

Luckily for him, the missing member of the Axis trio twirled in with a happy grin, distracting any unwanted attention from Russia.

"Italy! Good to see you!" Russia said with a single backwards glance while scooping sausage onto a plate. "Breakfast be ready in minute!"

Ditsy as always, Italy replied. "Ve~!" The pasta-loving country sat himself down in the chair on Japan's other side. "Is it pasta~?"

"No, silly!" Russia casually chuckled, stirring the porridge while holding a plate of sausage in his other hand. "Is traditional Russian breakfast! You see in moment!"

"Okay~!" Italy responded, still wearing his happy smile. He pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and started absentmindedly making a list of ingredients on it. Germany finished with his cleaning and dried off his hands. The blond joined the group at the table, sitting down next to Italy. He grabbed Italy's pencil and snapped it in half, to the light-hearted nation's mild distress.

And then came in the world's oldest duo of frenemies. France and England were glaring daggers at each other while they stomped around on opposite sides of the table, though with it being round they wound up next to each other. Each dragged a chair out very roughly, creating an irritating screech against the tiles. Russia slowly turned his head around at the noise, a very dark expression on his face. The two European rivals abruptly snapped to attention, and hysterically apologized.

"S-so sorry about that!"

"_Désolé!_ M-my most humble apologies!"

Russia returned to stirring and humming. He set the plate of sausage down on the counter to grab a bowl and a ladle. France and England sat themselves down in their chairs and very _carefully_ scooted them in.

Small conversations were made in the morning atmosphere of the room, but they puttered out as Russia approached. He carried one plate of soft sausage, and a large, circular tray with nine bowls of porridge on it. The sausage plate was set down off-center in the middle of the table, and the tray of porridge bowls was gently placed next to it. Russia left the vicinity of the table again, heading back to the cooking area. Those seated mostly rode two trains of thought. When they could eat, and if they'd be poisoned. Then, Russia came back.

He brought with him a metal, oval-shaped tray with slices of rye bread and a teapot, both of which he set down in the center again. The host country strode over to the nearest cupboard and tugged the well-oiled, wooden doors open. He reached inside for a stack of plates and another of teacups. Both sets of ceramics were brought back to the table as well. They were passed out and set in front of all nine chairs, even the three currently unoccupied.

Russia pulled out the empty chair next to China, but he didn't sit down yet. Instead, he waved an arm over the food displayed in the center, and gestured for everyone to dig in.

"Come now. Is good food. Черный хлеб," He pointed to the dark bread. "And soft sausage to make open-face sandwich. Sweet barley porridge. And tea, da."

Politely, they began to take food from the plates and trays Russia had prepared. Once everyone had a bowl of porridge and at least one sandwich on their plate, Russia picked up the teapot. He began pouring tea into the cups, one by one, until all nine were filled. Then, he himself sat down and started eating. Everyone else who was present took that as their cue to do the same. With small sips and quiet nibbles, they began to eat in awkward silence.

Then, America's loud voice came through the door before the nation did. "Haha! I can't believe you fell asleep on the piano!"

Austria stepped into the kitchen, followed by America. The musician crossed his arms and defensively replied. "This mansion is big. I simply forgot which way I was supposed to go back to my room."

"Dude, there's only one hallway to the music room."

Austria snapped back irritably. "Well, I lost my bearings there! The guest rooms are hard to find!"

"... The guest rooms are _in _the hallway."

"I..." Austria's cheeks blushed a prominent red and he turned away. "Shut up."

America laughed. "HAHAHA!" He pulled out the last two empty chairs at the table, between Russia and England. "I'm just teasing ya, dude. You're great, even if you have no sense of direction."

With a curt nod in response, Austria took the chair next to Russia and scooted himself in. America plopped down next to England and helped himself to breakfast. Two slices of bread, two pieces of sausage, and one bowl of porridge for him. Austria took the porridge, but not the bread or the sausage. With the two new arrivals, whatever somber mood had settled over everyone before had broken. Small chats were started again, and Germany began lecturing his elders when Japan and China took out a half-finished drawing and headphones, respectively.

The food was polished off quickly, for the most part by Russia and America. They'd started a sort of eating contest between them, which Russia easily won while America was choking on a spoon. Austria, surprisingly enough, had gotten involved as mediator and judge. After a few moments of passively watching America's face turn blue, the European nation had yanked out the utensil and declared Russia as victor, no arguments about it.

Things quieted for a bit.

"Say, America, what were you doing up so early today?" Germany asked.

America replied vaguely with an off-hand shrug. "Oh, I couldn't sleep that much. So when I fell outta bed I thought I'd just pick up a few things from that entrance place."

And then, when France and England suddenly began hitting each other, that short conversation was forgotten by all. Except for Austria. But life continued as usual. Breakfast was done. Germany began clearing the plates.

"I'll just wash these off." He said.

Italy jumped up and exclaimed. "If Germany's-a doing the dishes, I will too!"

"Thank you, Italy." Germany sighed, exasperated. He knew from long experience that Italy's involvement would only complicate the cleaning process, but the company was much appreciated.

Russia had plans for the day. "They can join us outside when done with plates. We'll be in garden, da."

"Ooh!" America was excited. "We get to see your garden? Awesome, br- dude!"

Russia's smile twitched a little at the slip-up, but Austria was once again the only one to notice the cause and effect. He began to wonder about exactly what happened last night. The text on his (cheap) cell phone only enforced the presence of the mystery.

The expressions on everyone else's faces were those of confusion or curiosity. Russia seemed pleased by the interest.

"Follow me, da. And grab winter gear first!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes and two fights over a hat later, everyone except Germany and Italy were standing on the same balcony Russia and Austria had spoken on the day before. All who hadn't yet seen what Russia had created in his spare time were gaping at the incredible sight, completely ignoring the jagged gap in the railing. And there was reckless America, who leaned over the wobbly side to catch a better view of the amazing frozen structures. England pulled him back roughly.

"You stupid yank! It's a long way down, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Geez, Iggy, calm down. This thing's stable, and it's not like anyone's gonna push me." America replied nonchalantly. The Brit stormed to France's side angrily, huffing.

Japan snapped out of his reverie when he remembered something. The Asian country turned to speak to Russia who was behind him. "Didn't you say we would go in the garden? How are we going to get down?"

Russia looked happy when he heard those questions. He smiled and walked over to the railing, next to America. The northern nation turned around to look at everyone and waved an arm out towards the garden. "Is very simple. I show you." He pushed America through the gap in the railing.

"Wahhh- oomf!" Was the loud shout heard.

"Like that, da." Russia gestured down at the human-shaped indent in the snow below.

Everyone still on the balcony gaped at him in shock.

"W-what..."

"Aiyah..."

"I can sit this one out, no?"

Russia chuckled at the looks on their faces. "Is okay! Snow break fall!"

As if to prove his frenemy's point, America suddenly popped out of the snow, a grin on his face. He exclaimed. "Dude, that was awesome!"

"Come now." Russia said sweetly. "Or does Mother Russia have to push children out of nest?"

There was a sudden mass exodus off the balcony. England shoved France out of the way to jump first, but was immediately followed by the longer-haired blond. Japan had clambered onto the railing and leaped with a mid-air somersault, arms spread wide for balance. China jumped after France, a little wobbly, but falling much more elegantly than either of the Europeans.

"Bloody h*llllll!"

"_Sacre bleu!_"

"Hai!"

"Aiyahhh!"

All four landed with soft thumps in powdery snow. England and France had hit face-first, side-by-side, and as soon as they got upright they started shouting at each other over whose fault it was. Japan managed to stay on his feet, but wound up waist-deep in white, and with a little help from America pulled himself out. China had hit the snow on his back, and was happily swinging his limbs back and forth to make a snow angel.

Russia's expression suddenly turned sad and regretful. "I was only joking... da..."

He walked over to the edge and reached above his head. Previously unnoticed, there was a thin, clear wire running above the balcony. It glinted in the sunlight. Russia grabbed it with black-gloved hands and stepped over the edge, zip-lining down to a hard-packed circle of snow on the edge of his garden. Austria, though slightly surprised, did the same using his scarf to catch the wire. _Zip~! _Air wooshed past, and before he knew it, Austria's shaky feet landed on the snow right next to Russia. He unlooped his scarf from the zip-line, tying it around his neck again. Then, he turned and waited for the five in deep snow to join._  
_

It was rather amusing to watch. They trudged and stumbled through the frozen fluff, all dressed in borrowed coats of similar design to Russia's. Their winter accessories were all their own, however. Austria tugged at his dark brown gloves, slightly uncomfortable with his fingers being covered. His own borrowed coat looked similar to his usual indigo one, matching in color and buttons. Looking back at the five nations fighting through the snow, he realized that theirs were rather recognizable as things they'd worn before as well. America's jacket collar and '50' insignia, Japan's white-and-gold design, France's cape, those were all meticulously worked into their coats. The color palette of each was very familiar as well.

Austria wondered just how far Russia had gone to make everyone feel a little more at home.

"Ha-ha! We made it! Hi, Austria dude!"

"Finally. About bloody time."

"_J'ai froid_. You didn't have to shove that freezing _neige _down my back, _Angleterre_."

"China want to see panda first, aru!"

"Actually, I believe Russia-san wishes to take us on a tour."

And Russia did. He led the party on winding pathways all through the garden of his making. He showed them all his first constructions, like the 'Sunflower head' and the 'Siesta rabbit'. He proudly presented his most elaborate creations, including the 'Wall of ice like ocean water' and the 'Fountain frozen in time'. Austria gifted each one with those names as they went along. And Russia liked the names, promising he'd keep them. He once again told the composer that he was good with words.

Germany and Italy joined the show not too long after, having found the zip-line. Russia then took the entire group on a roundabout path to re-visit the exhibits gone past. Seeing each one of Russia's snow statues was just as breath-taking as the first time around, if not more so. The host nation, after showing off all his favorites, made an announcement.

"You're all free to roam around!"

That brought out many cheers.

"But no touch, da?" He added ominously.

Many choruses of agreement were made.

That's how eight countries set about wandering through Russia's enormous backyard. They broke off into groups of two, with Russia as the odd man out. But he didn't seem upset, rather he smiled and walked down the only pathway that no one else was allowed. The one into the maze. Pretty soon, he disappeared from view like a ghost, and as the saying goes; Out of sight, out of mind.

Anyway, the groups went as follows:

France and England: They searched out the more surreal of Russia's works, like the 'Pyramid cleaved' or 'Spiral towers', as Austria had dubbed them. Mostly so that they could argue over the meaning behind them, or whether there was any meaning at all.

Germany and Italy: Anyone surprised by this duo? I hope not. Italy wanted to see all the human-like statues of children and families and angels. The snow-people were his favorites, and Germany had to follow him to make sure the ditz didn't do something to upset Russia. Because no one wanted that, least of all Russia.

China and Japan: After their partial reconciliation the night before, the two felt that they should spend some time together as family. Both were very interested in the 'Wall of ice like ocean water', and a very complicated, dome-like construction Austria called the 'Greenhouse of light'. That way, both of them were happy with how the groups panned out.

America and Austria: Quite possibly the strangest pairing of the bunch. But they worked together well. Neither really knew what they wanted to go back and see again first, because neither could pick a favorite. So instead, they chose to go wherever their feet took them.

* * *

"HAHA-HAHA!" America laughed. He ran down the winding path, arms spread out like the wings of an airplane. His coat and scarf whipped behind him. "This is AMAAAA~ZINNNG!"

Austria followed the hyperactive country at a much more leisurely pace. He watched America zip back and forth on the path. "Would you stop that? Just watching you is making me tired."

America, with a hop and a skip to his step, slowed down and made his way back to his position in the lead. The two of them had come to an agreement after Austria kept leading them back to where they started at the maze, which had a sign in front of the entrance reading: "INCOMPLETE. Please do not enter, da?" Neither of them wanted to run into Russia in there after he told them to stay out, so America, whose sense of direction was properly working, took them back to the fountain.

"Hey, Austria dude?" America glanced back at his partner.

"Yes, what?" Austria snapped back irritably. He was growing tired, and they weren't even halfway to the fountain.

"We're friends, right?"

That was an unexpected question. Austria faltered in both gait and response. He looked at his own feet. "I- I..." He stumbled, but caught himself before he fell. "I..." He looked up, meeting America's expectant, hopeful gaze. "... Yes. Yes, we are."

America exclaimed. "Awesome!"

Suddenly, and against his will, Austria found himself on the younger country's back, holding onto bouncing shoulders for dear life. America was flying down the path to the fountain, and Austria was screaming with his eyes squeezed shut.

"AACK! PUT me DOWN, you IMBECILE!"

Sooner than Austria would've thought, but then again his sense of time was almost as bad as his sense of direction, they stopped. He peeked with one eye, and then seeing that they'd arrived at the 'Fountain frozen in time', opened the other. He let out a sigh of relief.

Then, irritably and derisively, he said. "Would you let me go now?"

"Oh, right!"

Austria gratefully set his feet on the ground again. He brushed himself off, smoothing out his borrowed coat and re-tying his scarf. He looked around himself, and spotted just what he needed. A place to sit. Technically, it was just a long mound of snow, but at that point, Austria would take it as a bench. He plopped himself down less gracefully than he'd ever admit, and looked out at the circle the fountain stood in. America joined him at his side, but the musician didn't notice, focusing on Japan and China, who sere standing as close to the fountain as they dared.

_'I haven't seriously tried this in a little while... Not since that paintball war after the meeting.'_ He thought carefully. Then, a wry smirk made it's home on his face. _'But I suppose once more couldn't hurt. Time to read the music...'_

China stood just slightly behind and to the left of Japan. The older nation was twitchy. His right foot was in front of his left, and his left hand was nervously clenched into a fist. It hung tightly at his side. His shoulders were tense. His right arm was slightly raised, bent at the elbow, hand outstretched with fingers wide. Reaching for Japan's shoulder. China's expression was uncertain, mouth in a grimace, but there was a hopeful light in his eyes. Then, he lowered his hand, fingers moving into an odd shape for a moment - _like holding chopsticks_ - and then settled at his side. His stance relaxed.

Japan was very stiff. His shoulders were taught, he was standing more staight-backed than usual, and his fingers were very tightly curled. His feet were perfectly side by side. Austria couldn't see the island nation's face from his position, but just from watching his posture he could deduce that Japan was aware of China's actions behind him. When the older country put his hand down Japan's left hand twitched, but then he relaxed almost completely. Much like China.

"Hey, dude, what's up with your face?" America asked, waving a hand in front of Austria's eyes. "You look like you're doing math or something."

Austria blinked in surprise, widening his eyes. He hadn't realized that America was there.

"W-what?"

America looked at him curiously. "Why were you staring at Japan and China?"

"O-oh." Austria glanced away at his feet. "Well..." To lie, or not to lie? That was the question. "I..." He hadn't told anyone. Then again, he hadn't talked much to anyone for years. He took a deep breath, and let it out. Perhaps the truth couldn't hurt if he was telling a friend. "Well, everyone else has there own little hobby. Not long after Hungary left, I took up... people watching."

"Huh?"

Austria met a wondering gaze. Second thoughts were running rampant through his head. He snapped before he could really reconsider. "Alright, I admit it! I stare at people and figure out what they're thinking. I can tell that Japan and China had a reconciliation while eating last night just by observation. It's creepy. I'm a lonely freak." He looked away with a grimace.

The response he received from America was nothing like he expected. The idiot burst out laughing. "HAHA-HAHA-HAHA!"

"Ex- _excuse me?!_" Though the rejection he'd feared had not yet occurred, Austria couldn't help but feel a little affronted by the laughter. Especially considering it was _America's_ laughter.

"S-s-sorry, dude!" America stuttered out between bouts of chuckles. "I- I just... Heh." He sighed, wiping away a laughing tear before it froze. "It... It's funny!"

Austria was thoroughly confused. After a few moments of awkward, if amiable, silence, he finally asked with a huff. "What's so funny?"

"Well, here you are thinkin' _you're_ creepy, when we're at _Russia's_ place!"

Austria blinked in surprise. When he finished processing the words, he couldn't help it. He smiled. And he chuckled. "Aha... Ahaha... Ahahaha!" His worries seemed to disappear while he laughed. But being Austria, he calmed himself down quickly. Then, he replied with self-amusement and slight derision."Now that you mention it, I feel a bit dumb."

"Aw, man, don't say that!" America exclaimed. "You gotta be really smart to tell all that about Japan and China just by looking at 'em! You're like freakin' Sherlock or something!"

Austria looked up but then closed his eyes out of embarrassment, blushing at the compliment. He brushed it off. "Oh, I'm not that clever, really. No mind for strategy, or fighting, or math, or science, or..." He trailed off.

"Directions?" America interjected teasingly.

"Hmph." Though Austria didn't take the jab as personally as he did before breakfast. He kept calm and carried on with a faint smile. "Yes, all that. I'm good with music and words."

America added. "And people. Well, not always talking with people, but dude, you were the only one who went to see Russia yesterday after that blowout."

"In hindsight, that was more a dumb bravery and a lack of forethought than any form of social skill." Austria replied. But there was that topic again. Russia. Always skirting on the edge of any conversation in this place.

America stubbornly pushed on. "Even if you're gonna blow that off, you can't deny that you can really read people! C'mon, tell me more about Japan and China!"

"That's an invasion of privacy." He shot back.

"Aww, please?" America begged.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pleeease?"

"No."

Austria crossed his arms stubbornly. He huffed. America was really a nuisance sometimes. He would _not _reiterate facts about the two East Asian powers that the pebble in his shoe already knew. Most everything he'd gleaned already had to do with their little pasta party (Yes, of course it was pasta, a simple deduction. There hadn't been anything else edible left in the foyer last night) anyway. Discussion would only be roundabout, seeing how America had been there, which was an equally simple deduction... But of course... there was another topic on his mind which he'd be open to discuss.

"Pleee-"

"Yes, fine." Before America could cheer and call attention from the nearby nations, Austria continued, cutting him off. "But not concerning those two. Let's talk... about Russia."

That brought pause to the usually unstoppable younger of the two. And it also brought an uncomfortable silence.

"Well?" Austria huffed. "Yes or no?"

After what could've been perceived as forever, but was no more than ten seconds, America replied. "... Okay. Yeah, you go ahead. Talk."

Austria started off with a sigh. "Ah... Well, it's more difficult to read him than most. Russia, of course. He hides things." His gaze was blank as in his mind's eye he viewed Russia running off after America's outburst with China.

He continued. "All those stories about him; _Stretching_ Latvia, Prussia's stay with him, that tall tale with the Baltics and Belarus. There's so much said that makes him seem terrifying. But then..."

A series of flashbacks to softer expressions on Russia's face occurred. The hurt after finding out why China hadn't come in, the sadness on the balcony, the disappointment when no one thought he was joking about pushing them off. Austria remembered them. He went on speaking.

"But then, there are moments." Austria looked his companion in the eye. "Moments I've seen now that I've spent time with your freak show. Sometimes he seems more open. And then, when I look at him, I see someone softer, and kinder, and hopeful. I see innocence. I see the person who built this garden."

And then, that incident on the balcony came to mind. Right when Austria thought he was making a breakthrough, perhaps finding a friend in Russia. He smashed a pipe into the balcony railing, nearly hitting him. Splinters flying everywhere. And, unnoticed, he'd stolen Austria's glasses with frighteningly subtle ease. He shuddered.

"And then, I see the monster from the stories." Austria glowered, looking down at his lap. "The thing that makes half of Europe tremble and the other half gather armies. And terrifies everyone. The nightmare I was warned of. But... the two sides of him...there's... but... a sort of..."

He couldn't put it into words.

Surprisingly, America did it for him.

"There's a sort of connection between them. You look in his eyes when the guy's at his most honest, and you see them as the same person."

Austria was astonished, but tried not to show it. He continued. "Y-yes. And at the same time they're fighting. Always fighting, in the cracks of his mind. They have been for a long time."

The smile Russia always seemed to wear popped into Austria's head. The smile at breakfast, the smile after their chat on the balcony, the smile practically plastered onto his face.

"But he covers it up." Austria stated flatly and blankly. Then, frustration erupted. He felt like tearing out his own hair. "I don't understand it! He's just complicated!"

America didn't say anything when Austria left off at that. The younger nation just let his friend vent and rage for a few moments after that rant. Then, he quietly began to explain his own thoughts on the matter. "It's not that. Dude, not that at all."

"Huh?" Austria regained control of himself and settled down with a flush to his cheeks. Clearing his throat briefly, he asked. "Well, what is it then?"

"Ha!" America barked a laugh. "Complicated? Man, Iggy's complicated, you pretend to be complicated, but Russia? He's, well, simple."

Austria, after straightening out his scarf, replied bluntly. "I don't understand what you're saying. How is Russia simple?"

"He's lonely. Kinda like you." Austria stiffened at that comment, but didn't interrupt. "Russia just wants friends. Except he doesn't know how to do it like everyone else. He's like the kid who wasn't ever told what's right and what's wrong. Only with a lot of cracks in his mind."

America winced a little. "I stepped on a big one last night. Anyway, he's got issues, you gotta learn how to avoid 'em. That's all you need t' know, dude."

"All I need to know." Austria reiterated flatly. He stood, and turned to face his companion, looking down at optimistic, blue eyes. "All I need to know. That might work for you, but not me, understood?" He put his hands on his hips and glared, berating.

"Eh?"

Austria went on. "_You're_ mostly his rival, sometimes his enemy, always his _handler_. But that's not the sort of friend _I'm_ going to be. Understood?"

America interrupted. "You're his friend then?"

"Ah!" Austria startled. He hadn't meant to say anything like that. "I-, that is..." He took a deep breath, and let it out. Firmly, he stood and said. "Yes, I am."

There was a lull in speech. And then, America smiled widely. "That's awesome, dude!"

"Tch. All I want is to help a friend."

"We're on the same side, bro!"

* * *

In a dark, thin, tall tunnel of warped ice and snow, lit by the blue-tinted light of an electric lantern, Russia could hear the echoes of a conversation.

_"Tch. All I want is to help a friend."_

_"We're on the same side, bro!"_

He stopped walking. And he turned, to face a smooth, glassy section of the wall. In it, he could see his reflection, clearer than in a mirror. And it was made all the more eye-catching by the darkness all around. The rest of the tunnel was veiled in darkness, and Russia had only his artificial light to guide him. Aloud, to himself, he spoke quietly.

"_Austria_, comrade... You are very much alike _Amerika_. Optimistic, even though you would never admit. Idealist, even though you very cynical. And kind, even to me."

Russia gazed at his reflection with sad contemplation.

"You both want to help me, save me from myself, da?"

His reflection replied.

"I want that."

And then Russia's expression turned colder than the ice around him. General Winter's frost began creeping over his reflection in that mirror-like ice embedded in the snow. The cracking, freezing sound of it seemed to almost be a scream. A scream of hope halfway buried and frozen. Again.

"You both don't understand..."

Russia's reflection, so sad and so clear, the left half of it's face covered by the creeping frost, said.

"Please, friends..."

The frost stopped spreading. Still, half of Russia's reflection was visible. So vulnerable looking... Then, Russia, whose face was ice and cruelty, and a harsh, frozen heart, finished speaking.

"_Nyet._ Some things... are beyond saving."

* * *

**AN: **Man, I really need to get outta the habit of ending Russia's chapters like this. But he'll get his happy ending eventually, because Russia deserves one. I'm trying to find a way to get him close friends without changing his character, and it's difficult. This is my best attempt at it, so please don't judge too harshly. Anyway, the poll concerning a future chapter is still up on my profile. I don't think I'm coming back to Russia for a little while, so he won't be the focus of any upcoming chapters.

Please review!


	10. A Place Much Simpler than This

**AN: **Written while listening to "Airplanes" by The Ready Set on a loop. Love that song, and I love its message, even if it's a little sad. And yes, I borrowed a few of the lyrics to use in this chapter. XP Anyway, here it is, the next chapter of _International_! Please enjoy and please review.

* * *

**_A Place Much Simpler than This_**

It was nighttime in Paris. Streetlamps were aglow, and the Eiffel Tower was lit up in white lights. The sky was a dusky blue-black, and despite the late hour, there weren't any stars visible in the sky. There were just too many lights on the ground. Many people had turned in for a good night's sleep, but there were still many people out in the darkened streets, enjoying what a Paris night had to offer, and the wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower at night.

On the eighth floor of a building that was surprisingly nondescript from the front, there was an office still occupied, and documents were being signed there. The office itself was elegantly decorated, a mahogany desk sitting on an expensive red rug, genuine canvas paintings on the wall, and a tall shelf of thick and dusty books against the wine-colored walls. If you knew the person who owned the office, you'd be surprised by the blue, ceramic vase of white lilies sitting on the desk. If you knew who the person who owned the office was, you'd be much less so.

A fancy, gilded pen swished an elaborate, cursive signature on the line at the bottom of a piece of paper.

_Francis Bonnefoy_

The man who'd just signed passed the paper across the desk to the man meeting with him. The recipient of the signed paper put it away in a briefcase, and then sighed tiredly.

"Finally." He stood up from his chair and stretched half-asleep limbs. "Dude, it sure took you long enough."

"You were the one who called for this meeting, _Amérique_. Besides, the time it took to sort out my part in this scheme is going to be well worth it, _je crois_. It is _très important, _no?" France replied. He was likewise sick of sitting down however, and joined America in standing up. France turned his head to the side, glancing behind him at the large, glass doors. It was terribly warm in the office, and cool, nighttime Paris air was just a few steps away. What the heck.

France stepped to the glass double doors and turned the silver handles. Then, he pushed out, sending them swing outwards and letting in a gentle breeze.

America loosened his too-tight red tie and slid the formal, navy-blue suit jacket off his shoulders. He drank in the cool, fresh air. "Man, that feels nice."

"Would you like to join me on le balcony? There's still time before you have to go." France waved a hand towards the balcony in welcome while stepping outside the stifling threshold of the office. He breathed in deeply, savoring the air, and then let it out in a sigh. He rested his arms on the metal railing."_Très agréable_."_  
_

The younger nation stepped outside, jacket hung messily over one arm, and strode forward to stand next to his older companion and co-worker. He leaned out over the steel safety banister, further than was probably safe, but the view of the Eiffel Tower over the River Seine was simply extraordinary. Lights reflected off of placid waves in the water, and the gigantic iron monument was a sight all by itself. America stretched onto his tip-toes and leaned over another few inches, hands gripping the railing.

"Lean out any further than that, and you will fall over into _la rivière_, _Amérique._" France warned, though his mouth curled into a small, amused smile.

America replied nonchalantly with a casual flip of the hand. "Relax, Frenchie. I can keep a grip on the railing. Besides, you're not gonna shove me over like Russky, are you? Ahahaha!" Despite the laugh and dismissal of the warning, America shifted back to a safer stance anyway.

Neither spoke for a while after that. Instead, they simply looked out over the River Seine and at the city of Paris, enjoying the view and amiable company.

Then, France, not taking his eyes off the the city, said. "_I__l est enchanteur_,_ n'est-ce pas?_"

"Yeah, it is." America replied. He gazed peacefully at those streets so pleasantly illuminated, and the attention-grabbing vision of the Eiffel Tower. "_La Ville Lumière_. The city of lights. Great nickname for this place."

France remarked offhandedly and teasingly. "Your accent is appalling."

"Haha! I know!" America laughed as brightly as the city below. "Japan thinks it's funny!"

Comfortable silence reigned once more.

Then, a small, blinking, white dot of light on the dark canvas of the night sky caught America's attention. It was far away, and drifting along in the cloudless void oh so slowly...

"Hey, look!" America let his suit jacket fall off his arm and haphazardly onto the balcony railing. He raised that arm and pointed up to the blinking light overhead. Excitedly, like it was the first time he'd ever seen one, he exclaimed. "It's an airplane!"

His companion looked at him oddly. "_Amérique__, _you just got off a plane six hours ago, and you're getting on another one in three more. You told me yourself that you've been catching flights from Australia, to India, to China, to the Baltics, to here in the past few days to sort out this plan of yours. Not to mention you have not yet even collected agreements from the rest of the G8 or the _Nordiques_. Aren't you sick of flying?"

America shook his head with a smile, letting his arm fall back to his side. But he kept his face towards the sky, chin resting in one hand, eyes on the little, drifting light above. "No." He responded wistfully. "I could never be sick of flying."

"Ah." France nodded smugly and knowingly. He monologued with a dreamy, romantic tone of voice. "_J__e comprends très bien. __Oui, _I understand. You have a passion for flight, _amour_ for the air, a romance with the clouds." He placed a hand over his heart and allowed the fingers of his other hand intertwine with the stem of a rose. "Much like your _frère, Angleterre,_ has always had with _l'océan. _When Britannia ruled the waves, _notre cher Angleterre_ would often sail on one long voyage after another, never tiring of the salty sea. Your heart takes after his, but revels in the freedom of _le ciel _rather than that of _la mer_."

The Frenchman received a confused look from the American. "Huh?"

France sighed exasperatedly. He resisted the urge to face-palm and instead simplified his speech. Flatly, he clarified. "You like planes."

"Oh, yeah, I totally love 'em!" America exclaimed happily, grinning at his companion. He pumped a fist in the air. "Biggest air force in the world, baby! AHAHA-HAHA! _U-S-A~!_"

Unnoticed by America, the sound of a palm meeting a forehead came and went.

"Of course." France grumbled, partly to himself, partly to no one. He was going to make a comment about wasting words on idiots, but then...

Then, America's smile fell, and an expression of uncertainty and longing was planted on his face as he kept looking up at the only speck of light in the sky. And when he spoke, there was a hesitation and lack of confidence to his voice opposite to his very nature. Something was weighing heavily in his thoughts."H-hey... France..."

"_Oui_? I'm listening, _Amérique_. You can tell Papa France what's on your mind." And because there was no one else to witness, he really meant it.

Still looking up at that blinking light that was a commercial flight, America asked something strange. "Just for tonight... Can we pretend... Can we pretend that airplanes are like shooting stars?"

The question surprised France. Partly because it was odd, and a little random, but mostly because it was much deeper than anything that could've usually been expected from America. He responded thoughtfully. "Why? Do you want to make a wish?"

In reply there came a silent nod.

"Eh then..." France prodded the younger nation. "What would you wish for, if you had one chance?" He smiled teasingly. "Come now, _Amérique, _tell me. Money to pay off your debt? More jobs in your economy? Or is this a desire for that _impossible_ ideal you call world peace?"

"No, nothing like that..." America shook his head slowly. He sighed bashfully, laughing awkwardly. He glanced at France. "Ahaha... I guess, this wish is a selfish one."

France was intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yeah." America sighed, gazing up at the little moving light again, the wistfulness back. "I just... I wish we could go back."

That was a rather open statement. Not clear at all. France pressed for details. "Go back where, _mon cher_?"

"To a place a lot simpler than this." America seemed to be lost down memory lane. "Back to the days... Before the politics, before the games." He slammed a fist against the railing, the point where it hit denting severely. He grumbled. "Before all this sh*t."

Wincing at the damage done to his banister, France thought. _'A wish not uncommon.'_

America went on speaking. "You know, when the Wright Brothers were inventing the airplane, they didn't have the best funds or the best resources or the best support. Langley and all those more famous guys who were trying to make flying possible, they had a lot of eyes on them.

But I rooted for the Wrights, because when they were building and experimenting, when they made the first flight, they were doing it because it was what they liked. No one believed them or me when I said it really happened, but what was worse than that were all the lawsuits and the patents and the legal stuff. They had to fight to keep their claim. I bet they wished they were back in their bicycle shop during those years. It wasn't about flying anymore, it was about getting the money and the rights for it. That was disappointing... It's not the same situation, but right now I'm feeling kinda the same way they did. "

France nodded in agreement. "We all do, sometimes. I myself miss the days of colonies and empires and adventures on the high seas. I also know that _Espagne_ misses the Spanish Armada, and _Angleterre_ misses sinking the Spanish Armada, but never mind that. The point is, those olden, golden days were so much simpler."

"Weren't they bloodier too?" America asked pointedly.

Slightly affronted by the jab at his nostalgia, France retorted. "Well, _décès_ might've been more common then, but it happens on a _plus grande_ scale now."

"... Yeah."

France sighed. "_Cependant,_ I would not trade today for anything, not even the past. What we have now may not be simpler... but it is a better day than anything we've had before." He turned his head to the side and looked America in the eye, an optimistic smile on his face. "Your impossible ideal is more possible today than ever, _Amérique._"

"Yeah." America perked up again, back to being his usual cheerful, optimistic self. "You're right, Frenchie! Today's better than yesterday, and we'll make sure tomorrow is too!"

Then, music came out of nowhere.

_'When I get older, _

_I will be stronger,_

_They'll call me freedom,_

_Just like a-'_

The song was cut off when America answered his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"What?!"

"Wha'dya mean my flight's been moved up two hours?!"

"Wha'dya mean, what do I mean?!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'!"

America put the device away, and said a quick goodbye to France. "Gotta go, Frenchie, flight's leaving sooner than I thought!"

France looked incredulous, but not at the phone call itself. "Your _sonnerie_ is 'Waving Flag'?"

"Yeah, it is, so?" America rushed through the glass double doors from the balcony and back inside, followed by France. He picked up his briefcase and hurriedly put his jacket back on.

"Oh, nothing." France shook his head. As America yanked open his office door to leave, France called out. "_Au revoir!_"

America replied rapidly. "Yeah, see ya this weekend, Frenchie! You're hosting the party this time!"

"_Q-que?!_" France panicked. "But-"

"'kay? Glad you agree! Bye!"

_Bang!_

The door was slammed closed.

A moment of silence. Then...

"F*ck you, America!"

* * *

**AN: **Allusions to future chapters! Hooray! XD Please, let me know how you liked this chapter in a review!


	11. The Nordics

**AN: **A one-shot chapter on the Nordics, from a request by frequent reviewer **Yin-Yang Sparkle**. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out like I hoped or (s)he suggested. :( But I think it's enjoyable in a different, more humorous, crack-tastic way. Once again, I must say that I hope no one is offended by my take on anything in this story.

* * *

_**The Nordics**_

The Nordics were gathered together at Sweden's house. While years ago they would've been talking with each other amicably or playing a heated game of Risk, now... there was an awkwardness between them that came from not feeling as if they knew each other anymore. Denmark leaned against a table, semi-hostile, polishing his axe with a white cloth. Finland sat cross-legged in front of the roaring fireplace with a blank expression. Norway, on the stairs, was lost in the dusty book he held in his hands. Iceland gazed out the window thoughtfully, his puffin on his shoulder. Sweden stood strong and tall, observing as a silent pillar in the middle of the room.

To any stranger seeing the scene, it might've seemed like a companionable, if furtively quiet, atmosphere. To the Nordics, it was a shadow of the close bond they had once shared in the recent past. But no matter how recent, the past is the past.

Denmark suddenly became irritated for no apparent reason. He hopped off the table and stuffed the cleaning cloth into a pocket of his long coat. Carrying his axe in one hand, he said. "This isn't working anymore." He didn't meet anyone's eyes, glaring at the floor as he walked towards the front door. "I'm leaving."

"The world agreed that nations should be getting to know each other again though." Finland protested, getting to his feet as well.

Iceland turned from the window. "We came here to do that."

"You are leaving so soon." Norway didn't look up from his book, but his voice was heard.

Denmark paused in front of the door. He hesitated. Then, he turned the doorknob and pulled the door open without a glance backwards. "I'm leaving. I'll get to know my other friends better. But not you guys again. It's just too awkward. Sorry."

_Bam!_

The door was shut with more force than necessary.

And then, with Denmark gone, there was a void in the already thin tapestry of friendship that held the Nordics together. Iceland felt that it might be better to leave as well. He walked to the door and pulled it open, just barely nudging it closed behind him as he silently left. After that, Norway didn't like the mood. He was starting to feel unwelcome, though nothing had changed between himself and the two other remaining Nordics since they'd first arrived. He closed the thick tome in his hands and followed Iceland out the exit.

Then, Finland, kind and loyal and happy Finland, began to slowly walk towards the door just like three nations before him. He was the most conflicted of all of them.

"Y' too, m'w'fe?" Sweden suddenly spoke for the first time, his emotionless gaze following Finland's molasses-like movements.

Finland already at the door, glanced back for a moment. Then he turned away just as quickly. "Please, Sve. Stop calling me that." The door was shut behind him.

Sweden was left all alone in his house.

Inwardly, the Scandinavian country sighed to himself wearily. Outwardly, he stood as apathetic as ever. _'I sh'ld prob'ly 'o get 'em back. They'll c'me t' th'r senses.' _He walked towards the door.

* * *

Unexpectedly soon, Iceland found himself company in the form of two odd micronations. One was a young, brightly dressed, red-haired Italian who tried to flirt with every girl who passed by, and oddly enough they giggled half the time. The other was a gruff, dark-haired, teenage personification in sunglasses with an American accent who swore with every other word. Seborga and Molossia. Yes, they were certainly odd.

Iceland sat on a public bench with Molossia, though the micronation distanced himself from the Nordic. Seborga leaned against the bench on his other side, though he hopped off every few minutes to charm a passing female.

"F*cking Italian." Molossia grumbled, slightly red-faced at being associated with the flirt. "Never f*cking stops with his f*cking attitude."

"So he is always like this, then." Iceland said flatly. Mr. Puffin hopped from his head to his shoulder.

Molossia nodded stiffly and kept grunting insults. "I f*cking swear, if he tries this with Wy again... Grrr. The f*cker f*cking takes after Spain."

Very sweetly, Seborga stepped in front of a brunette, Swedish girl in a school uniform who couldn't have been more than twelve and gave her a freshly picked pink tulip.

"O-oh, thank you, mister!" The girl blushed and looked away, avoiding eye contact with the red-haired teen in front of her.

Seborga winked and replied smoothly. "Please-a, sweetie, you don't have to thank-a me. Name's Seborga Vargas. Just be in this town-a for me to look-a you up when you're a little older." He laughed. "Fusososo!"

"Alright, that's the last f*cking straw!" Molossia stood and rolled up his sleeves. He grabbed Seborga by the shoulder and dragged the fellow micronation behind the bench, letting the schoolgirl continue on her way.

"I was-a only teasing!" Seborga claimed hysterically as he was shaken back and forth by the neck.

Iceland turned around in his seat to see the Italian being half-nelsoned and half-strangled by Molossia. "You f*cking Italian! The f*ck were you trying to do, f*cking pedo?! You gotta f*cking take after Spain!"

Cross-eyed and choking for air, Seborga desperately said. "N-no I don't-a! I promise-a! I swear!" And, like a true Italian, he pleaded. "Please, let me go-a, I have-a relatives in your country!"

Molossia did as he was begged to with an irritated huff. He grumbled. "You don't have any f*cking relatives in my country. You don't have any f*cking citizens in my country. H*ll, your brothers don't have any f*cking relatives in my country."

"Um..." Seborga thought carefully, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Then, his face lit up with an idea and he replied. "You're in Nevada, so... I have people in America?"

"Tch." Molossia scoffed. "Every f*cking nation and their grandpa has f*cking people in America."

Seborga shrugged and then plopped himself down next to Molossia on the bench as if nothing had ever happened between them. Micronations were very odd indeed. And they'd forgotten about him. Unnoticed by either of them, Iceland snuck away from them and into a park.

He sighed. It was harder to find new friends than he thought.

"Com'n' back?" A voice mumbled from behind him.

Iceland whipped around and saw Sweden. Relieved, he nodded with a grateful smile. "Yes, please."

Mr. Puffin squawked.

* * *

Norway had returned to his own home after leaving Sweden's, and had been mildly surprised to see two unexpected guests on his front doorstep. A bushy-browed Brit in an old military uniform, and a fanged strawberry-blond with red eyes and a tiny, ribboned top hat that defied gravity the same way Denmark's hat did. England and Romania.

Time for a reunion of the Magic Trio?

"Hallo." He put up a hand in greeting.

"Hello." Replied England politely.

"Alo!" Romania cheerfully responded.

Language is a funny thing, isn't it?

"Good to see you again after six years, Norway." England said. He pulled out a thick, leather-covered book with rather questionable symbols on the cover. "Up for a reunion of the Magic Trio? It's been a long time since the three of us got together."

"Da, it has." Romania agreed, nodding.

England suddenly shuddered, rubbing goosebumps on his arms. "Please don't say yes like that, Romania. I realize it's your language, but I just got back from Russia not too long ago... Brrr." He shivered.

"Oh. It's okay." Romania nodded again and smiled. Then, he said to Norway. "So, will you join us?"

Norway looked between his two distanced friends and then a small grin made its home on his own face. "Let's brush off our cloaks."

Half an hour after he met them at the front door, Norway found himself in his cellar with England and Romania. They'd donned long, black cloaks and painted crescent-shaped, Gallifreyan half-symbols on each others faces. Using chalk, they'd drawn a magic circle on the floor (even though England and Norway were a little out of practice). Then, they'd lit seven candles and spread them around the circle. Now, they were whispering secret words and chanting many strange phrases as they drew in the fine details of the circle or examined their nails. In many ways, it was like a teenage girl's slumber party.

"Britain, are you sure this is going to work?" Romania questioned.

England replied confidently. "Yes, I'm sure. I tried this spell back in World War Two. It went wrong... but I've worked out the kinks in the theory and the words since then! Gentlemen, today we are summoning the king of all demons from the depths of h*ll!"

"Let's begin." Norway said, clasping his hands together. His friends did the same. They began.

_"Santa Rito Mito Meada. Rango Jonah Tito Marlon. Jack L'toya Justin Beiber. Dumbledora the Explora._

_Santa Rito Mito Meada. Rango Jonah Tito Marlon. Jack L'toya Justin Beiber. Dumbledora the Explora._

_We have summoned you from the depths of a middle school cafeteria. SHOW YOURSELF!"_

The white chalk began sparking and glowing, light rising upwards and twirling into unnatural spirals. Flying Mint Bunny ducked behind England, and Norway's own troll jumped into an old, empty box in the corner.

In the center of the circle, a head rose. "You kolled?" Russia. Yet again.

"U-u-uh..." England stuttered, paling. This wasn't supposed to happen. Again. "H-hello, R-Russia. How are y-you this f-fine evening?"

"Ah, Britain!" Russia exclaimed brightly. His arms and shoulders suddenly popped up out of the floor as well, and he began lifting himself out of the magic circle.

England stammered. "I-I, shouldn't you b-be going back h-home?"

Russia was standing on the floor now. He was wearing his standard coat and scarf. The violet-eyed new arrival strode over to England and embraced him in a bone-crushing hug. "So glad to see you again. You enjoy weekend at my place? You did, da?"

"O-of course." England choked out, struggling to find breathing space in Russia's arms. "Y-your garden was... l-lovely..."

"Mmm..." Russia sighed happily. "Is warm here. I can stay for little while, da?"

England nodded desperately.

"Hooray!" Russia let England flop lifelessly to the ground, clapping his hands together like a small child on Christmas.

And just then, the doors to the cellar were pulled open, letting a bright stream of sunlight into the dark, shadowy place. The illumination hit England and Romania in the eyes, and both of them hissed at it, crawling farther into the darkness to let their eyes adjust. Norway looked up to see the brightly lit figures of Sweden and Iceland, and the slightly disturbed expression on Iceland's face. He looked back at his two friends of the Magic Trio, and suddenly realized how creepy their retreat into the shadows might've looked from an outside perspective.

"Norway?" Iceland called down into the cellar.

Sweden mumbled. "R'dy t' come back?"

Norway nodded and clambered up the steps.

When he met his two fellow Nordics outside in the sunlight, Iceland asked. "Was that Russia?"

Norway nodded silently in response.

"Str'nge." Sweden mumbled.

Norway had an urge to burst out laughing, but settled for a quiet smile instead.

* * *

Alone and frustrated, and also more than a little drunk, Denmark swung his axe at a stray soda can on the empty street. It clattered along the road, coming to a stop at two pairs of feet. Denmark, axe still in hand, looked up to meet two familiar sets of eyes. One pair a deep, bloody red, the other sky blue.

Awesome.

"Didn' expect to run into you guys here! What're ya doin' in Sweden?" Denmark cackled, letting the head of his weapon swing into the ground so as to be non-offensive.

Prussia and America exchanged slightly confused glances. America said. "Denmark, dude, this is Germany. Y'know, just south of your place?"

"Where the awesome me and my awesome _bruder_ live?" Prussia added in unnecessary clarification.

Denmark blinked in astonishment. Then, he laughed. "Gwahahaha! Man, I must've fallen asleep on that bus longer than I thought!" He bent over double in his amusement, cackling drunkenly. "Hahaha!"

"Dude, they let you on a bus with that thing?" America gestured towards the battle-axe in Denmark's hands.

"Hmm?" The Nordic glanced at the handle he held, and then the sharp blade in the ground. "Oh, I put it away." He then did so again, twisting the shaft and letting it fall into two pieces, then sliding both halves behind his back. When his hands were in view again, the axe was gone.

Prussia shook his head exasperatedly. "The awesome me will never understand where you keep that."

In teasing and inebriated reply, Denmark said. "Probably the same place Hungary keeps that frying pan with your face on it."

He and America shared a laugh at Prussia's flustered expense.

"Gwahaha!"

"HAHA-HAHA-HAHA!"

"S-shut up! That man-woman is totally _unawesome_!"

Gilbird chirped. "Piyo! Piyo!"

The chuckles died down after a minute or so, and Denmark lazily swung an arm around the albino's shoulder. "Ah, c'mon, Gil. Just teasin'. 'Sides, we're the Awesome Trio! Nothin' can take _us_ down!"_  
_

Prussia sniffed at Denmark's sleeve. He blinked and looked back to the Nordic's red-tinted face. "Den? Are you, like, drunk-drunk?"

"Nah!" Denmark waved the question off flippantly, with half-lidded and unfocused eyes. "No more 'an usual! Hah!" He pulled a silver flask out of his pocket and popped the stopper off, taking a long swig of whatever was inside. "I coul' last for days on t'is!"

America looked at Denmark questioningly and then said to Prussia with a nod. "Yeah, I think he's really drunk."

"No 'm not!" Denmark shoved Prussia away, suddenly angry. "I'm a freakin' *hic* viking, I can 'old m' lacquer!"

His battle-axe was pulled out of nowhere, fully assembled, and shoved blunt-side up against Prussia's neck. "Y' take 'at back!"

"Ack!" Prussia backed away and ran behind the nearest form of cover - a metal rubbish bin on the sidewalk.

Denmark, in an inebriated haze, didn't see where the albino had gone, and so turned to swing at America. "I ruckin' fule Scandi-*hic*-navia!"

America stumbled to the side and turned around to see the sharpened head of an axe embedded in the middle of an empty road. He could see himself reflected in the shiny silver blade. Letting his gaze follow the handle to Denmark's gloved hands and drunken, enraged expression, America said cautiously. "Um, Denmark?"

"Wahhhh!" The Nordic charged and swung.

_Thunk._

At a brick building.

"Gah! Die, 'ou coward!" He hacked at the bricks with his eyes closed, furious at... something. The axe scratched and made deep gouges in the side of the building, but did nothing that had to be immediately repaired.

"Uh..."

"Just let him get it out of his system." Prussia clapped a hand on America's shoulder. "It happens quickly. Den's awesome like that."

So, a Prussian and an American stood by on an empty street and watched a drunk Dane attack a German building.

America asked. "Hey... should we be calling the other Nordics or something?"

"Yeah, you probably should." Prussia nodded.

"Why can't you?"

Prussia shrugged and nonchalantly responded. "West's credit card expired, and he was paying for my calls."

Shouldn't have bothered asking, really. America took out his own cell phone and scrolled through the contacts list. Where there was one Nordic the others were sure to follow, so they had to be close by. Calling Iceland was as good a choice as any.

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Click._

_"Halló."_

"Yeah, hi, America speaking. Me and Prussia found Denmark-"

_"We just found Finland. Already on our way."_

_Click._

_Beeep._

Twenty minutes later, Denmark was sitting on a public bench between Prussia and America, muttering to himself drunkenly.

"Stupid Sweden... Don't need them..." His shoulders shook as his body was suddenly wracked by sobs. "'tis not... it's not the same..."

Prussia patted the Dane's shoulder. "Den? It'll be alright."

"No it won't..." Denmark had his head in between his knees after pulling his feet onto the bench. "Jus' not the same... I didn' wan' t' leave... Thought it'd be better..."

"Well, the other Nordics are coming to pick you up, so they care!" America nudged Denmark's shoulder. "If you care, and they care, then you all can fix things!"

Prussia poked Denmark's cheek. He said to America. "I think he passed out."

"Oh."

"Hey, do you hear sirens?"

_Screeeech!_

Around the corner came a military jeep burning rubber on the road. It literally bounced to a stop in front of the bench, and then Sweden and Finland hopped out of the back. Sweden lifted both Denmark and his battle-axe, taking quick strides back to the vehicle, and dumped the Dane inside before jumping back in himself. He waved for Finland to hurry.

"Sorry, Prussia, America. We're in bit of a rush." He glanced back at the way they came, where the distant sound of sirens was growing louder. "If you really need to know, we can tell you later-"

America, though just as dumbfounded and speechless as Prussia, cut Finland off and said. "N-no, just..." He paused, considering the sound of police sirens and... was that a helicopter? He grinned. "Dude, you guys _have _to tell us what happened at the world meeting next week!"

Iceland suddenly shouted uncharacteristically loudly and angrily. "Finland! Get in here or Norway's steppin' on it without you!"

Something like a rolled up paper was pressed into Finland's hand, and then he was shoved towards the jeep. He ran and hopped in with a hand from Sweden, and the moment he fell over the edge the vehicle tore away. And not a moment too soon. No more than five seconds after the military jeep left, several police cars and a helicopter passed by and overhead Prussia and America. They zoomed by so quickly they had to be breaking every speed limit but the Autobahn's. The sirens were fading away into the distance when Prussia spoke up.

"America, wasn't that chopper one of yours?"

"Yeah... Prussia, wasn't that jeep the Nordics were driving one of Germany's?"

"_Ja_... and whose police cars were those?"

"I think saw some with Russky's flag and the ones in the lead were definitely Italian."

"None of them was an awesome German car... but I could've sworn I saw a Spanish one."

"The one with France and Austria handcuffed in the back?"

They glanced at each other.

And then, one of them muttered an ominous question that was more of a statement. "We have phone calls to make, don't we..."

* * *

Despite being in the middle of a multi-national car and air chase that was quickly turning into an international _incident, _the reunited Nordics found the time to chat.

"You know..." Norway mumbled, not taking his eyes off the road as the get-away driver. "It's rather nice being back together."

Iceland, though tense about the situation, agreed. "Yes. Despite the empty years. And... this."

"I ag'ee." Sweden muttered.

Denmark, shaken awake by the many roundabout turns Norway was making to escape the confines of the small, German town, complained. "I 'ave a headache... But, seeing you guys again is kinda worth it."

Finland, aggravated and exasperated, sighed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Duh." Denmark turned around in his seat and waved his axe at the following helicopter and police cars. "Screw the government! GWAHAHA!"

"Wh'ch one?" Sweden asked flatly.

Denmark screeched wildly. "All of 'em! HAH!"

"Y'know," Finland said matter-of-factly. "Some of those are ours."

"Screw our governments too!" The Dane cackled. He was drunk while high on adrenaline, and that wasn't a good combination in anyone, let alone Denmark. He glanced back at his fellow Nordics. "Got any grenades?"

They unanimously shouted. "NO!"

"Oh, come on, I only want to blow out their wheels!"

"NO!"

"Denmark." Norway snapped. "We are already an international fiasco. Let's leave it at that."

Though still tipsy and slightly disappointed, Denmark did stop requesting ammunition. Then, he noticed the paper wadded in Finland's hand. "Hey, what's that?" He asked.

"Huh?" Finland glanced at the sheet of paper he held. "Oh! America handed it to me. I wonder what it is..."

He unrolled it, and then skimmed through the words on the document. Denmark read over his shoulder aloud for the other Nordics to hear. When he finished, all five international refugees from the law wore expressions of surprise.

"...This was really America's idea?" Iceland asked.

Finland nodded. "I guess so." He looked around the jeep, which was still bumping over curbs left and right. "Anyone have a pen?"

They signed it, all five of the Nordics.

"Hey, how're supposed to send this back if we're in the middle of a high-speed chase?" Denmark suddenly realized.

Iceland pointed at Sweden. Sweden pointed to Denmark's hat. On Denmark's hat was Gilbird.

"Oh!"

The Dane held his hand up next to his head and the bird hopped onto his index finger. He held out the rolled up document, which Gilbird pecked up in its beak. Then, Denmark flung Prussia's pet into the air, the Gilbird took flight back to its master.

"L'st we got 'at d'ne." Sweden mumbled.

"...We're still wanted in half of Europe." Norway said back.

They kept driving.

* * *

**AN: **Done! Apologies for the slightly rushed ending. I hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless! And yes, in my mind, Seborga has Spain's laugh. Please review!

* * *

**Omake:**

The television in the living room blared.

_"Breaking news. The BBC reports an international high-speed chase taking place in Europe. The names of those being pursued are not known, but we do know that there are five of them. A Swede, a Norwegian, a Finn, an Icelander, and recently joining them, a Dane. At first, it appeared they were only in some way involved in the Moscow fiasco where an American ambassador was critically injured with a metal pipe stolen from the Russian representative in the UN's mysterious branch, Nations of the World. _

_These five internationally wanted criminals have been named 'The Nordics' based on their nationalities. According to an international investigation, the Nordics, minus the Dane who had not yet joined the party, escaped from Moscow secretly and undetected in the back of a pick-up truck driven by a Ukrainian woman. They caught a flight to Barcelona, Spain. _

_It's believed that there, they were also responsible for property damage across the city caused by a rampaging bull owned by a local. They were chased by the police northward into France, where a Frenchman also joined the four for a chain of destruction across northern Italy. Thankfully, no one was severely injured. The party of five escaped past the border into Austria, where the Frenchman kidnapped a musician named Roderich Edelstein from Vienna. Somehow, the Nordics managed to sneak themselves and their two new additions onto a flight to Munich, Germany._

_There, the Nordics split from the Frenchman and his kidnapped guest. Somehow, in the process of escaping from his captor, the Austrian got lost in a hardware store and is believed to have started a fire that is still burning wares throughout the city. He was found by German police and then turned over to Spanish law enforcement for interrogation. The Frenchman was subsequently captured, and both were arrested. The Frenchman for multiple accounts of property damage, and one kidnapping, the Austrian for suspected arson._

_Both were handcuffed and forced to help in the ongoing chase for the Nordics, which led north to Berlin. There, the Nordics were cornered by Russian police and an American law enforcement helicopter. Reinforcements arrived in the form of the Spanish and Italian police forces, but the Nordics managed to steal a German military jeep and escape further north._

_In a small town near the border, the four original Nordics were joined by the Dane. As it turns out, the Dane is wanted in all of Scandinavia for many accounts of property damage and threats to bodily harm. He is armed with a battle-axe. The Nordics, now with five, are currently on a highway turning northward towards Denmark._

_Their law-breaking spree has resulted in no fatalities, but hundreds of thousands in property damage."_

Sealand blinked. He called out behind him. "Oi! Jerk England! My mum and dad are on the telly!"

"Say what?!"


	12. Micronations Day with Japan

**AN: **Yet another chapter has arrived! This one might become part of a series of connected one-shots, though spread out. It's very quick, and not very edited, so apologies in advance for that. I hope you can enjoy it!

* * *

_**Micronations Day with Japan**_

Japan stood stock-still, staring at the four nations in front of him. Or, more accurately, the four _micro_nations. England had foisted Sealand onto the fellow island nation after the Brit himself had been suckered into babysitting, and Sealand had brought several of his friends over with him. That meant Japan had to spend the day with Sealand, Wy, Seborga, and Molossia. And he'd only just finished his weekend backlog of paperwork too...

"Ah..." Japan didn't know exactly where to begin, but he figured an introduction would probably be right. "_Konnichiwa_. I am Japan."

"And I'm SEALAND~!" A little boy in a sailor suit exclaimed, punching a fist in the air. "I'm a powerful country!"

Wy, the brunette girl, scoffed, crossing her arms the way only a tween could. "Uh, _no,_ yo're not."

"Blimey, Wy, why do you have to ruin it for me?" Sealand whined.

His complaints were ignored by the only girl of the group, who greeted Japan politely. "I'm the Principality of Wy. Nice to meet you, Japan." She reached out an arm and shook hands with Japan primly, though he found the ordeal to be awkward.

"I'm Seborga!" The red-haired boy did a sort of half-salute that reminded Japan of Italy. He winked playfully. "I'm an Italian bro! Glad to meet-a you, Japan, Italy talks-a 'bout you sometimes! Say, are there any girls-a at your place who might be interested in an Italian vacati-"

"Shut the f*ck up, Seborga, you're f*cking chattering _again_." The fourth member of their micronations club, Molossia said. His eyes and expression remained mysterious, hidden behind his sunglasses, but his mouth was downturned into a stern scowl. The young man gave off a gruff sort of impression. Molossia stiffly said to Japan. "I'm Molossia. Hi."

Molossia held up an open laptop. On the screen, there was a red-haired boy with blue eyes and a streak of paint on his cheek. Japan blinked once in surprise. A _fifth_ micronation? "Hey, I'm Ladonia, and I'm a high-tech web-based nation!"

Japan replied back awkwardly. "Hello..." But he went unheard as the micronations started... interacting.

"I'm the mighty Empire of Sealand!" Sealand exclaimed.

Wy whined. "_Why_ am I lumped in wit' you? Really, _I'm _official. Hmph."

Seborga commented. "Fusososo! You made-a a funny joke, sweetie! 'Wy' and 'Why', fusoso!" He started playing with Wy's ponytail.

"Shut up! I'm trying to make my internet country a good image with Japan!" Ladonia, whose laptop was being set down, shouted.

Molossia confronted Seborga after putting Ladonia down. "The f*ck are you doing to Wy, you f*cking Italian?!"

"I'm-a flirting, what's it look-a like?" Seborga replied, winking.

"He's pullin' on my hair, Molossia. It's annoyin', get 'im t' stop it!" Wy complained.

"F*cker, get the f*ck away from her! You f*cking take after Spain, don't you?!" Molossia yelled at the Italian.

Sealand claimed. "Imperialism is not dead! It lives on in SEALAND!"

Japan was very confused and slightly horrified. The micronations were personalities all on their own, but... he couldn't help but think... _'It is like I am dealing with a tiny, imperialist, British version of America-kun... A little girl version of Austria-san... A strange young man who is a blend of Spain-san and Italy-kun... And an even stranger young man who is like America-kun and Switzerland-san put together, but with Tony-kun's mouth.'_

Ladonia, from the laptop screen, demanded attention. "Hey! Molossia, pick me up again! I can only see Japan's feet from here!"

_'And... Ladonia. I have never heard of him before.'_

"Ah, please, if you would calm down-" Japan tried to placate the micronations, but he didn't even have to finish speaking for them to obey.

They were suddenly straight-backed and at attention like soldiers. Wy and Sealand were next to each other, standing in front of the taller Molossia and Seborga. Molossia held Ladonia's laptop so that the screen faced away and Ladonia was looking out, likewise stiff and military-like in posture.

"Ah, thank you." Japan said, slightly surprised. _'I do not understand these micronations.'_

Seborga brightly asked with another half-salute. "Sir, what is it you'd like-a?"

"Well, ah, I'd like to know why you have suddenly stopped fighting." Japan admitted quietly, curious.

Wy answered snootily. "It's because you're a powerful, full-blown country. We're micronations. We'd rath'r do wha' you say than find ourselves on your hit list."

_'That's quite blunt.__' _Japan thought, sweat-dropping. _'But worded clearly. She really is much like Austra-san.'_

Ladonia protested. "I'm a real nation too! I'm fighting Sweden, remember?"

"You got in the f*cking line like the rest of us." Molossia pointed out.

Sealand burst out shouting. "Jerk Japan, what're you gonna make us do?"

Japan wasn't comfortable with the situation. He didn't know them at all, yet the micronations were somehow both rebellious and too eager to please. They were strangers, but he felt obligated to take care of them. So odd...

"Ah, well..." Japan responded. "I think you should all just do as you'd like here in my temporary home. As long as it is careful and courteous. Technically, this is property of Britain's government, and we are all guests, even though it looks like my house."

"I'm always careful." Wy scoffed.

Ladonia piped up. "Say, isn't Japan known for his video-games?"

Sealand cheered. "Video games!"

Seborga cheered. "Ne~! Video games!"

Molossia grumbled. "Tch. F*ck this. I'll play."

Wy looked conflicted, but her more serious side collapsed in the face of her friends' unanimous agreement. "Oh, alrigh'."

"Well..." Japan mentally excavated his list of video games, crossing out many that weren't suitable for children. "I have... Mario Kart."

* * *

Yoshi bounced off the golden fence of Rainbow Road, losing the good velocity he'd been building up during the second-to-last lap of the race. Princess Daisy made the sharp turn with flaunting, jeering ease, riding by him on her motorbike. Yoshi struggled to turn around, always stuck against the fence as numerous NPCs passed him by. Finally, he backed up just enough to make a slow turn onto the center of the track once more. The little green dinosaur in seventh place began picking up speed again.

Toad was starting to make his way up in the ranks. He'd stayed back around tenth place for the first two laps, but on the third, which was also second-to-last, he picked up his pace. Slowly and steadily, he was going to win the race by weaving around all those ahead. Currently in eighth place, the mushroom cap was tailing Yoshi, not that the seventh place racer noticed. And then... now! He used one of the trio of red shells surrounding him, which hit Yoshi at point-blank range. The other character was sent flipping over the edge of the technicolor track and dying in a flaming inferno of _DEATH _in the cruel, airless vaccuum of space. Ha-hah! Now to get further ahead before he came back.

Princess Daisy was in second place and loving it. The NPCs weren't too far behind, but they were distant enough not to be an immediate worry, and so she only had the character ahead to concern herself with. He had gained an incredible lead early on, but around the end of the second lap had become the target of numerous red and blue shells, slowing him down considerably. Still, he kept his title of first. But Daisy was going to be the one to knock that stupid Italian off his ditsy pedestal. There! He was in view. Carefully... Hah! A well-timed green shell smacked his vehicle, killing off the streak of speed he had in that super blooper. To first place she was heading.

Luigi had, in the beginning of the game, been in the twelfth starting position. He'd even missed the starting speed boost. But he made up for it with his driving. The green-wearing plumber was the shakiest, wildest, most death-defying driver their ever was. He would make a last, split-second turn to avoid falling over some edge of the track, and manage to knock off two NPCs and Toad while doing so. He would weave in-between the large mass of characters during the first lap and leave chaos in his wake. And he did so without using a single item. Daisy had managed to take his spot of first, but she wouldn't have it for long. The finish line was in view - press the button! And... invincibility star! Luigi knocked Daisy off the road and cruised into first place.

The others finished in their own time.

**Yoshi - Twelfth place**

**Toad - Fifth place**

**Daisy - Third place**

**Luigi - First place**

"F*ck!" Sealand cursed, throwing his controller on the ground in frustration. "I got bloody last place!"

Molossia, who wasn't playing, slapped the oceanic micronation on the back of his head. "Language!"

"You're har'ly a good role model." Wy high-handedly pointed out.

"Squirt doesn't have to look up to me, he has to do what I say." Molossia shot back.

Wy replied. "Whatever. I go' third place, so I did better than him anyway."

Ladonia, whose controller was connected to his laptop, whined. "I only got fifth place! Oh, I knew I should've started my strategy earlier!"

"Oh, shut up." Wy said. She turned to Seborga. "Congratulations on winnin'. Even if y' had to knock me away to do it."

"How did you learn to drive like that?!" Sealand begged to know.

Seborga laughed. "Fusososo! I'm-a Italian! What did you expect-o?"

He stretched and slid an arm around Wy's shoulders, but the girl slapped his hand away with a huff.

"F*cking Italian. Takes after Spain..."

Quietly observing them from in the corner, Japan thought. _'These micronations are strange... very strange. They remind me of... well, us. But with more free time and less responsibility.' _He checked the time. _'Oh, perhaps they would like a snack now. What do children like to eat these days... ah!'_

Japan asked. "Would you like some ice cream?"

"YEAH!"

And that was when Sealand knocked over the Wii, Wy threw her controller out the window, and Seborga tripped over Molossia's foot to crash into the television.

Japan became wide-eyed. _'I did not think they could cause such destruction.'_

* * *

"I had the chocolate sauce first, wanker! And I'm an older nation than you, so it's mine!"

"It's _mine_! You weren't even usin' it, you little pommy drongo! And you aren't a nation either!"

_Crash!_

"Pass-a the pasta, please!"

"You don't eat ice cream with f*cking pasta! F*cking Italian."

"Someone plug my charger in! I can't come out until someone plugs it in!"

"I'll get your f*cking charger, Ladonia. Anything to get away from the f*cking Italian."

"My chocolate sauce!"

_Crash!_

"Mine!"

_Crash!_

"It's mine!"

_Crash!_

"Pommy drongo!"

"Aussie git!"

_Crash!_

"Oh, Molossia! Your-a back already! Fusoso! Just look-a at Wy and Sealand! They're adorable!"

"Shut up, wanker! F*cking Italian!"

"Watch your mouth, Sea-squirt! Besides, that's _my_ f*cking line."

"Molossia! C'mon, I need that charger!"

"Tch. Here."

"Finally! Thanks, Molossia!"

_Crash!_

_Boom!_

Japan was in the room next door, and he couldn't even see what was happening in his kitchen. But whatever it was, he didn't think he'd like the end result. He sighed. _'If Britain ever requests this again, I will commit seppuku__.'__  
_

* * *

Five hours later, England knocked on Japan's door. "Hello? Japan? We finally sorted out the... er, situation... with the Nordics, so I'm here to pick up Sealand!"

_Bam! _It slammed open, startling the Brit. He was only even more surprised to see Japan's disheveled appearance and bloodshot eyes.

"J-Japan?"

The Asian country shoved four people and a laptop out of his house, slamming the door closed again. A muffled, heavily accented shout came through the door. "Go away and never come back! I am returning to peaceful ISOLATION!"

England glanced at the micronations standing next to him on the doorstep.

"Japan's a jerk just like you, Jerk England." Sealand remarked.

From inside, the sounds of boards being nailed to the door and windows was heard.

England sighed, kneading the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache sneaking up on him. "Sealand, just take your friends and head to the airport. Sweden and Finland are waiting there. I need to call China and America."

* * *

**AN: **Ah, the micronations. Anyone like this chapter with them?


	13. To Reminisce in Paris

**AN: **This chapter is another story-flashback one like 'The Time was WWII'. I think I'm going to make a series of these for each of the World Eight, and possibly Austria and/or a few other characters. Some of them might be light and funny like Germany's, and some might be deeper, it all kinda depends on the character. I hope this chapter is one much-enjoyed!

* * *

_**To Reminisce in Paris**_

England slouched over on the wine-red couch, tea in a Tardis-themed mug in hand. His suit was rumpled, his hair had stray strands all over the place, and overall he simply looked exhausted. He sighed tiredly. "I never thought I'd be _grateful_ to be in frog country."

"Aww, what's wrong, Iggy?" The annoyingly cheerful voice of a certain American idiot playing card games asked from the floor. "That thing with the Nordics?" Then, to his companions on the ground. "Go fish, China."

The Brit snapped. "Bloody h*ll, yes, the Nordics." He began ranting with vented frustration. "I always thought those five were more sensible, but apparently they haven't grown up a lick since their viking days! It started in _their_ lands, but they just _had_ to go to Moscow! The biggest international incident of the century! I still don't understand _how_ those gits got to London! I'm on an _island_! It was a bloody _car chase_! They shut down the London Eye, and because I had to saddle Japan with Sealand, that Edo prat went back into bloody isolation! On _my_ government property! Oh, thank God it's over now!"

Germany, who was collapsed in his seat right next to England, grumbled. "You hardly have anything to complain about, Britain. That fiasco in Berlin humiliated me. Not to mention the _feuer_ in Munich." He shot a venomous glare towards another nation playing games on the floor.

"I said I was sorry! And the Nordics are paying for all the damages, so just let it _go_ already." The snooty voice of an Austrian aristocrat replied. "Besides, none of _you_ were abducted by a _gottverdammten Französisch, boden-lecken, feige schwachkopf_." Then, to China next to him on the floor. "May I please have your threes?"

China scowled and handed over two cards. "China don't understand how you be cheating, aru."

"Ouch, Frenchie." America remarked casually. "Austria _really_ doesn't like you. You even got him to swear!"

France, by himself in an armchair, protested. "But _Autriche! _I only wanted to spend a bit of time getting to know you better! Don't you like me?"

Austria flatly replied. "_Ich hasse dich_. In your language; _J__e vous déteste_. In English; I hate you." Then, to Japan. "I'd like that three in your hand, please."

Japan nodded and passed him one card. "Hai. Austria-san, you are very good at this."

"Thank you, Japan."

"Aw, man! Austria, dude, you won again!"

"Ve~!" Italy, snacking on a tomato at Germany's side, exclaimed. "Big brother France, you broke a lot of stuff at my place! One of my favorite pasta _ristoranti_ is closed for the next week!"

"Well, it couldn't hurt you to enjoy something other than pasta, you know, _Italie_." France replied.

Germany sighed exasperatedly. "He said _one_ of them, France. And he'd cook it himself anyway."

"_Certaines choses ne changent_." The Frenchman responded with a shrug. "Italy's pasta is a constant."

America, shuffling the deck of cards, commented. "Like China. Dude's older than dirt."

"And proud of it, aru!" China exclaimed stubbornly, holding himself with pride.

Being in between card games, Japan did a quick head count around France's Paris apartment. "Sorry to interrupt, but where is Russia-san?"

France answered. "When I called, he said he couldn't come. Just the eight of us on a moonlit _nuit_ here in _Paris_."

"Don't you dare think of trying anything tonight, frog." England muttered, glaring.

With an exaggerated gasp of hurt, France replied. "Angleterre! How could you? I thought we had something _spécial_!"

"The only thing special between us is the Hundred Years' War!"

"What of our alliance, _mon cher_?"

"That doesn't count when it's a nonofficial meeting!"

America suddenly snickered. "Hahaha! It's like you guys have a relationship built on hating each other!"

England growled. "Oh, quit laughing, git. Take a good look, because this is exactly what you and Russia are going to be like a century from now."

"_Ew_, no way!" America seemed disgusted by the Brit's words. "I wanna be friends with him, but I'd rather go back to the Cold War than make out with the guy! I do _not_ wanna go where you two are!"

Silent disbelief and gaping expressions of shock filled the room. And then...

"Ohonhon!"

"What exactly do you _think_ the frog and I do?!"

"Ve~?! Germany, I thought Britain and big brother France were only friends!"

"T-they are!"

"China need brain bleach, aru..."

"_N-nani?!_ Fruk is real? Fandom go _kureijī_..."

In the madness, Austria spoke calmly. "I was under the impression that we gathered here to take a break from work and enjoy each other's company._ Not_ dissolve into the chaos of a World Meeting. I thought we made progress last weekend."

The atmosphere became quiet and considerate. England set down his mug of tea. Italy stopped fidgeting. Germany sat up straighter. France stopped leering. America put away the deck of cards. China tucked his music player back into his pocket. Japan forgot about doujinshi for a moment. Everyone remembered their purpose for gathering.

"Yes..." Germany spoke. "We should be civilized here and get to know each other. Enjoy the company. As people. That's what these weekly meetings are for, _ja_?"

Murmurs of assent echoed through the room.

Then, England said. "What are we supposed to do, exactly? The fro-... France doesn't have a secret garden to show us. This is an apartment in Paris."

Japan made a suggestion. "We could tell stories. Like at China-san's."

China frowned and furrowed his eyebrows at how Japan had addressed him. Hadn't they made progress as brothers just last week?

"If we are to reminisce in Paris." France began to speak slowly and heavily, eyes closed. "I have a story to share." He looked up, eyes weighted with years. "As _Angleterre_ mentioned, between us we had the Hundred Years' War. Late in the war..."

"Oh no..." England blanched, his expression aghast and horrified. "You're not- don't you dare...!" But his words lacked conviction.

France continued. "Late in the Hundred Years' War... When I was losing all hope, a savior appeared. A girl..."

* * *

_A short-haired girl in man's clothing knelt before the robed man named Charles. Charles the VII, the uncrowned King. The girl spoke lowly and with great reverence and certainty in her voice. As if the angels themselves had given her her words._

_"Your highness, God has spoken to me... and He commanded me to make you King!"_

_The uncrowned King stepped forward to look down at the kneeling girl. He did not know what to make of this unexpected turn of events, but he was desperate. Aid in any form, even that of a young girl dressed as a man, would be accepted. The British weren't coming, the British were there, and they were choking Orléans with their siege. Charles the VII was doubtful, but the moment I laid eyes on the girl I knew she was our savior, and I whispered in his ear._

_"Let her go to Orléans. I believe... she may save us all."_

_He nodded. And he asked the girl._

_"Quel est votre nom?" What is your name?_

_The girl raised her head and met both our gazes with strength. Her bleu eyes were determined._

_"Mon nom est Jeanne d'Arc."_

_Jeanne d'Arc, or as many know her, Joan of Arc, traveled to __Orléans. There, she achieved the impossible. She lifted the siege in merely nine days. Following the miracle at ____Orléans, Jeanne won many swift victories pour nous. She marched onto Reims, and there, the uncrowned King was crowned. The girl accomplished all this in just four months. _Only the Home Alone garçon could top that.

* * *

"Yeah! You go, girl!" America whooped, caught up in the story.

Austria crossed his arms, scowling at the younger nation. "Quiet, you dummy. The story isn't over."

The American shrugged, and off-handedly remarked. "But isn't it obvious how this ends? Another turn in another European war, France beats Iggy back to his island, Jeanne or Joan or whatever lives happily ever after!"

He received several looks from several countries at that outburst. Austria glared at him, but there was a sadness to his annoyance. Germany frowned at the interruption, but turned back to look at France after a moment. Italy seemed to want to share America's opinion, but somewhere in his mind he knew it wasn't true and he kept silent. Neither China nor Japan knew the tale, but they were both old enough to foresee the ending, and were quiet. England didn't meet anyone's eyes. And France...

France shook his head slowly in response to America's idealistic exclamation. "_Mon ami, mon frère_... _Amérique... _I am very sorry to say that this is not the case. There was no happy ending..."

* * *

_I did not speak to her the day she was captured. I was with the King. Jeanne d'Arc was captured as our troops withdrew from Compiègne. Not by les Anglais, but she was given to them eventually. Charles the VII was put on his thrown by our savior, and he abandoned her to flame. _

_Les Anglais gifted Jeanne a trial. Pah! What a trial. She was doomed to fire before it even began. _

_In 1431, during the closing days of May, Jeanne was to be executed by **incendie**. So it was said by the trial. So it was said by England._

_The King might have left her to die in ashes, but I, as France, and Francis, and friend, did not. I rushed to her location as quickly as I could. But when I arrived and pushed my way through the crowd, it was by then too late. Jeanne was already tied to a tall pillar at the Vieux-Marché in Rouen, and a burning torch was being carried towards her. I was right there, with a front-row seat, and yet, I could not move. I could not speak. I could not look away._

_With a cross in her dress' front pocket and her head to the bleu skies, Jeanne's hair waved in the breeze as the torch was thrown down. The logs burned and fire rose, faster than I would've thought. Her pâle dress made her seem ghostly in the smoke. Still, I was silent. Frozen. Horrified._

_Despite the hazy smoke and my very small presence in the considérable crowd, Jeanne d'Arc turned her head. She looked down, and met my still gaze. I saw in her eyes uncertainty. Pride. Worry. Acceptance. And, what struck me most of all, fear. She was afraid, Jeanne d'Arc was afraid! I finally found the will to move. I called out._

_"Je suis désolé! Ma chérie, je suis tellement désolé!"_

_She did not respond, for she could not. Perhaps, she might've smiled. Perhaps, she might have pleaded. Perhaps, she might've hated me. But I do not know, for the flames consumed her._

* * *

France closed his eyes once again, lost in the confines of memory lane.

No one in the room could respond. They were all uncertain what had brought on an urge to tell a tale such as that of Jeanne d'Arc, but even the most oblivious among them knew it was wrong to intrude upon France's reminiscence. He'd told them something precious in a spontaneous act of trust, and to violate that was something unthinkable. Many might know the story of the Hundred Years' and Jeanne d'Arc, but few had ever known the memory.

Then, against the better judgement of anyone, England spoke. In French. England, France's enemy of centuries, hater of all things French, and social faux pas waiting to happen, spoke in a language he'd only grudgingly learned and barely knew. He spoke clumsily and with a heavy accent, and though it might have been offensive any other time, France appreciated the guilty gesture.

England said. "_France, je suis... désolé. Ce que j'ai nait- non, fait. __Ce que j'ai fait était pour... moi-même. Et je suis désolé pour... la douleur qu'il a_ causé."

Translation: France, I'm sorry. What I did was for my own sake. And I am sorry for the pain it caused.

The corners of France's mouth twitched into a smile. He opened his eyes, and they seemed to be laughing. "A momentous occasion, eh, _Angleterre_? Ohonhon, I can't recall the last time I heard you speak _ma_ _magnifique langue_. Say that just once more, _s'il vous plaît_?"

With that, everyone knew the previous delicate spell had been broken. And England knew too, reverting to his familiar intense dislike of France. "Shut it, frog! It's never going to happen again, I assure you!"

"Honhon!" France chuckled. And then, suddenly, his expression was somber again. "_Angleterre_... Just so you know... I may have once blamed you for the loss of Jeanne... _Cependant_, I do not anymore. I have not blamed you for a long, long time, _mon ami_. Do not let it weigh on your mind, for vengeance does not weigh on mine. I have not forgotten, and I never will, but I have forgiven."

Cold but hesitant silence was all France received in reply, but that was all he needed to understand his rival's answer.

France sighed heavily and looked away from England. "_Très bien_... Have it your way, _mon cher_."

There was an awkward, but very light, silence that fell over them after that. It reigned for but a moment, when France changed the topic.

"_Hé_. _Amérique_, didn't you have something to share with everyone here?" He smirked, twirling a lock of long hair around his finger.

America snapped his fingers once in realization. He exclaimed brightly. "Oh, yeah! Dudes, I totally have the most awesomely heroic plan ever!"

He reached a hand into his jacket and pulled out eight slightly ruffled sheets of paper. The American stood up and passed them out. Each nation in the room received on except for France, and there was one extra which was put away again.

"This..." Germany mumbled while reading through his document. "This is actually very good."

"Yeah!" America flashed a thumbs-up to the German. "So, you gonna help out or what?"

Germany gave a few moments of thoughtful consideration to it, and then nodded, saying. "_Ja._ Where's a pen?"

Everyone signed the document they were given, and America collected the papers once more, tucking them away in his jacket. A scheme was moving forwards.

China yawned. "A-ah~... I tired." He stood and brushed off his trousers. "China go back to hotel now."

He walked out the apartment door, and upon his absence several others stood to leave as well. They filed out the door one-by-one. Japan. America. Germany. Italy. Austria. Soon, only two people remained in Frances' Paris home. However, neither made a move. There was an uncomfortable silence. And then, England stood and walked to the door, footsteps clacking on the floorboards. He reached the exit, and his hand rested on the handle.

England couldn't meet France's eyes as he spoke. "You might forgive me, but sometimes, when I look back... I can't forgive myself. It's been centuries, and I can't forgive myself." And he walked out, a white, wooden door quietly slipping closed behind him.

With a lonely sigh, France heaved himself out of the armchair. _Clack, clack, clack. _Weary steps brought him into his bedroom, which was lavishly decorated in reds and whites. He closed the bedroom door. And in the darkness, he strode to the curtained window. _Whhp! _He flung the cloth coverings to the side. _Click. _He unlocked the window. _Shhk. _He pushed the glass panels open.

Outside, the moon was bright and crescent-shaped. It served as the only natural source of lighting in the Paris night. France gazed upon the silver satellite for a moment, but then turned his attention down below, to the figures walking away from his apartment building. Six of them moved in a group, chattering and laughing and gesturing extravagantly on their way to the hotel France booked them. And further behind, just exiting the lobby egress, was another person. England. He walked in the same direction as the others, but chose to isolate himself with a much more sedate pace than their quick strides.

_'Must be lonely...' _France thought. But his wonderings were superficial compared to his true contemplations. England's last words echoed in his mind.

_"I can't forgive myself. It's been centuries, and I can't forgive myself."_

France sighed and looked up at the moon again. That bright lunar crescent lacking the company of stars. Sometimes, the lights of Paris really seemed too bright. He said aloud to himself. "Sometimes, our lives really seem too long."

* * *

**AN: **I feel like the writing quality at the beginning of this chapter is much worse than the end. :( Can't seem to find the will to go back and fix it though. Ah, well. I hope you enjoyed, and please review if you did!

Also, I still have that poll up on my profile. I'd rather get a bit more feedback before writing up the chapter it relates to, so please go vote!

Side note: I have another Hetalia story published. It's been up for a little while now, called 'The Day You Look Around Yourself and See the World At Peace'. A somewhat long one-shot that I had a lot of fun writing. Please read and review!


	14. CD - Fans

**AN: **This chapter came into existence because I was bored and thinking about the fandom community. Enjoy. ;)

* * *

_**Cultural Differences - Fans**_

One sunny day in Geneva, Switzerland, several nations very prominent in the international community ran into each other, nearly every one of them in the worst possible state of mind to be in while out and about in public. It was a way of thinking known for causing conflicts more heated than hockey riots and Brooklyn rage. It was a personality quirk that frightened many across the globe. It was a mental instability that those infected with often worked to spread. It raged and it terrified and it grew. Those infected were given a title should send every sane person within glomping distance running for their sanity. _Fans._

England was decked out in dark slacks, a dress shirt, a tweed jacket, and, most importantly, a fez and bow tie. Having arrived two days early for the World Conference, he'd had time to splurge on a _Doctor Who_ marathon a night ago. And now, the day before the meeting, he was swaggering through the streets of Geneva in full Whovian cosplay.

China had likewise come to the Swiss city a few days early, and had been pleasantly surprised to find that he didn't have as much paperwork to finish as he'd thought. That being said and done, he'd gotten bored very quickly. And so, he'd indulged in a guilty pleasure of his. Reruns of the show _Super Girl Contest_. Some might have called it a cheap, all-female knockoff of _American Idol_, but it had captured China's heart. Even if his government had it axed in 2011.

The potentially disastrous confrontation of world powers began with these two.

His eyes were glued to the small screen of his new iPhone as China strolled leisurely through town. He was listening to the rerun through his much-beloved pair of headphones. England, rounding the corner, was so confident as to not be looking where he was going. They were bound to meet.

_Crash!_

Both nations fell to the sidewalk, one dropping his phone and the other losing his fez. The two scrambled for their respective belongings. Once they were in hand or on head again, only then did either bother to speak with the other.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Rude Western culture! Should respect elders, aru!"

They blinked, realizing who they'd run into. China gaped, wide-eyed at the strangely dressed England. England was confused to hear foreign cheers and singing coming from China's phone, which had come unplugged from his headphones. They froze where they sat on the sidewalk.

England questioned somewhat disgustedly. "Excuse me, China, but is that a _game show_ you're watching?"

"No!" China replied defensively. He paused the video on his phone and clutched the device to his chest possessively. "Is TV singing contest! _Super Girl Contest_ is treasure of television, aru!"

In response, England crossed his arms and scoffed. "Sounds like just another stupid reality TV show to me."

"Hmph." China harrumphed, glaring at the Englishman. "What you know about good TV, ahen?"

With high-handed confidence like an arrogant jock, England replied. "_Everything_, my dear China." Even flat on his butt in the middle of Geneva, he managed to seem pompous. "I'll have you know that _Doctor Who _is one of _mine_."

Slightly confused, China asked bluntly. "Is that the strange British show with old man and pretty girl in phone box?"

Quickly growing red-faced, England sputtered. "W-why you! Doctor Who is a brilliant story about time-travel, friendship, and saving the universe repeatedly! The 'old man' is the Doctor, the 'pretty girl' is the Companion, and the 'phone box' is the TARDIS! Which is bigger on the inside!" He leaped back to his feet in his rage. Acidly, he spat. "But of course, _you_ wouldn't recognize modern culture if it smacked you over the head with your own wok! After all, _you_ watch _reality TV_."

And so, the age-old dispute of TV Drama versus TV Contest began anew.

"Watch your mouth, ahen!" China snapped, flipping back to his feet as well. He shouted at England. "_Your _stupid TV Drama not even modern! _Doctor Who_ over fifty years old, aru!"

"The _age_ gives it _taste_!" England fired back.

China countered. "You are British, ahen! Everyone know you don't _have_ taste!"

While these two old enemies of the Opium Wars fought over whose favorite show was better, another country just having recently landed in Geneva was taking a walk around the city. He was old, he was calm, and he was quiet. He would've been the ideal person to settle a fan war. Except for one thing- He was a fan himself. A _very_ large number of people suffering from the epidemic of fandoms could trace their original infection back to him. Japan. Creator of manga and anime (no matter what South Korea says). There was one webcomic/manga/anime that he was particularly proud of...

Dressed very formally in a suit and tie, and carrying a briefcase, Japan was actually on his way back to the hotel where all the nations had booked rooms. A quick business trip to see Switzerland had gone smoothly, and he could now settle down and relax before the check-up conference tomorrow. It was on his way back to the hotel that he saw China and England arguing loudly on a sidewalk corner. Curious, and feeling obligated to break up the inevitable fight between his fellow nations, Japan made his way over.

"_Osoreirimasu_." Japan tapped on China's shoulder to get his older brother's attention.

The two fell out of confrontation for a moment, surprised by Japan's arrival. And then, with their minds gripped by fandom fever, they dragged him into the mess.

"Japan! Tell China that reality shows are the root of all evil!"

"_Dì dì_! Explain to _Yīngguó_ that his show stupid!"

"Just help me prove that _Doctor Who_ is the best!"

"You know China's _Super Girl Contest_ show is best!"

"I've shown you the new episodes, and you liked them!"

"Support older brother!"

They were shouting their opinions at the same time and the words mixed together more often than not, but with skill born of attending G8 meetings, Japan listened to both of them. After a few moments, he decided to reply.

Japan held up a hand to stop them talking. In the resulting silence, he said. "England-san, China-san. I believe both are as good as the other."

China and England glanced at each other, and then suddenly realized just how ridiculous their argument had been. Japan was completely right! They both loved their own shows, and they could both be fans of their own and not the other. They could both agree to disagree.

"But neither is as good as _Hetalia_."

And that, my dear readers, is how Japan instigated a three-way war.

"_Doctor Who_!"

"_Super Girl Contest_!"

"_Hetalia_."

"Whovians rule the BBC!"

"_Contest_ fans all over China, aru!"

"_Hetalia_ dominates fandom internationally."

"77 million viewers worldwide, wankers!"

"400 million viewers in China, aru!"

"Over 100,000 fanfictions."

Just then, Russia walked by. He didn't look at them, he didn't acknowledge them, but he said in passing. "_Tropikanka _was used by one of my presidents to win election in 1996. Many fans in Russia, da."

All three arguing countries shivered in unison, falling silent as the Russian passed by. But the moment he was out of sight once again, they returned to their raging debate.

"I've got _Steven_ f*cking _Moffat_, you little flower-painting Asian blighters!" England shouted confidently (and racistly). "That makes _Doctor Who_ mind-blowingly epic and way better than TV contests or anime!"

China retorted. "People all over my country vote for winner when _Contest_ was on!"

Japan softly interjected. "_Hetalia_ has international community. Fans even unite on United Nations Day, which we call Hetalia Day. It promotes world peace."

"_Doctor Who_ has a brilliant plot!"

"_Contest_ have audience participation, aru!"

"_Hetalia_ has a very impressive fandom."

The three rabid fanboys kept up their eternal cycle of debate, often repeating points they'd already made before. While this was going on, another nation who was inevitably going to be drawn into the argument was beginning to approach the trio's position.

He was a country who was undoubtedly going to find himself involved in the fan war that was rapidly escalating into an international incident. After all, quite a few of his people were fans of one thing or another, and even fans of the television programs England, Japan, and China were disputing. He himself preferred shows made by his own people, but accepted and loved many television programs from around the world. And so, America, wearing a certain anachronistic jacket over jeans and a T-shirt, found himself facing a trio of fans with a large bone of contention to pick.

"At least _Doctor Who_ is still ongoing! And it has an actual storyline!"

"_Super Girl Contest_ capture China's heart! Is much-loved show!"

"I do not understand why you two do not take my point of view. We are all characters in _Hetalia_."

America slurped at his 24-oz. soda very loudly. It caught the attention of all three arguing nations. They stared somewhat blankly at him for a moment, but then recognition and realization lit up their eyes.

"America! You're a Whovian too, tell these gits what they're missing out on!"

"My _Super Girl Contest_ show is base off _American Idol_! You like it, yes, aru?"

"America-kun, you have always loved my anime and manga. Please, explain to our friends how _Hetalia_ is great."

He didn't react at all, but appeared to be listening. That only drove the three debating fans to try and pull him onto their side.

"We watched the 50th Anniversary Special together! That has to count for something!"

"Contestants were very Western, aru! Is show you would like very much!"

"You said yourself that _Hetalia_ is special, America-kun. Please tell England-san and China-san why."

America stopped slurping at his drink. England, China, and Japan fell silent as he started to speak. "Well, first off, what the h*ll?"

England explained. "We're debating which of our favorite television programmes is the best. *cough* It's _Doctor Who_! *cough*"

China said. "China believe that _Super Girl Contest_ is a treasure of television, aru."

Very simply and bluntly, when the other three turned to Japan for his answer, the otaku stated. "_Hetalia_."

They looked at America expectantly, silently pressuring him to choose a side. Narrowed eyes, downturned lips, and tense shoulders surrounded him on three sides. He stepped back hesitantly, and they stepped forward as he did. He took another step away, and once again they moved closer. Taking a side would probably get them off his back, but it would also set the other two against him. What to do, what to do...

"Um..." America nervously answered. "I like all three shows?"

The three countries surrounding America on the Geneva sidewalk glared at each other, and then redirected their anger at him. _"You can't side with them, you can't side with them..." _They whispered without words. Even Japan seemed to be hostile. _"Come here, come here..."_

Neutrality - not working. Just like in both World Wars.

"Eheheh..." A glance behind him revealed that the intersection was busy. No escape that way, unless he wanted to challenge speeding Swiss automobiles.

Wanting to put in a bit of persuasion, England spoke with poisoned honey dripping from his voice. "Come on now, America. We both enjoy _Doctor Who_. What happened to being a true, TARDIS-blue Whovian?"

China, never far behind, interjected with thinly-veiled hostility. "What happen to democracy, aru? China thought you be all for contest show with audience vote. _Nǐ hái qiàn wǒ, Měiguó._"

Being of similar taste television-and-video-game-wise and knowing it, Japan opted for a gentler approach. "America-kun, you have enjoyed many of my works in the past. With your help, I am certain that we can prove to our brothers why _Hetalia_ is truly the best form of entertainment around."

"Eh, can I just say that all three are really great?" America suggested, desperately willing the stoplight to change.

"_Doctor Whooo_~..."

"_Super Girl Contest_!"

"_Hetalia_."

The stoplight turned red. A very clean, army-green Volkswagen mini-van screeched to a halt in the street. The driver's window lowered, and a certain trigger-happy blond leaned out with a rifle in hand.

Switzerland shouted. "Shut up and stop freaking people out! You're all fans, you love TV, lolz, and sometimes shipping. Those are things you have in common so start getting along before I turn you all into Swiss cheese!"

All three nations on the sidewalk nodded vehemently. England and China made a greatly exaggerated and somewhat awkward show of patting each other on the back and grinning painfully. Japan shrunk into the background behind them. Despite his deepening scowl, Switzerland seemed satisfied by the show of temporary armistice and ducked back inside his car. The light turned green. The Volkswagen veered away. And the three countries still on the sidewalk heaved sighs of relief, though Japan did so more reservedly.

Then, they noticed America sneaking away across the street.

"Oi! Come back here!"

"_Huí lái_! China say stop, aru!"

"Please wait, America-kun!"

England, China, and Japan ran after their escapee, crossing a heavily trafficked street. They gave chase as the American fled. Past restaurants, apartments, offices, banks, and alleyways they ran. And then- _Bonk! _A metal pipe was shoved into their path at eye-level.

They fell backwards onto the sidewalk. America backtracked to see Russia standing over the unconscious trio.

"Woah, thanks dude!" The bespectacled blond gave a nod of appreciation to the other.

Russia shook his head once, no smile on his face and his eyes not meeting his companion's. "Do not thank me, comrade. They were annoying when I walked by. Besides, you carry them back to hotel by yourself, da."

"Um, okay?" America shrugged. He nudged England's limp arm with his foot. "As long as they don't wake up and start creeping again."

"They won't." Russia tucked his pipe away. He turned and began walking away. "До свидания_. _See you at conference tomorrow."

America suddenly remembered something while picking up Japan. He called out to the Russian. "Hey, Russky, wait! Why weren't you at France's last weekend? Your friends missed ya, buddy!"

"У меня нет друзей."

_I have no friends._

"H-huh?"

* * *

**AN: **This ended on a very different note than it began. :\ Ah, well. I don't really mind it. And yes, I made Switzerland say 'lolz'. XD Also, if anyone's interested, I got some research for this chapter off of this article; mental floss {dot} com /article/12783/25-most-powerful-tv-shows-last-25-years (Just get rid of the spaces at the beginning!)

Please review!


	15. WPC 11

**AN:** Quick note on this chapter as it will be the first of a kind. WPC stands for 'World Progress Check'. That's what I'll be calling the monthly World Conferences held to see how everyone's getting along (or not).

Now, for an explanation that shouldn't be needed if you're any kind of smart: The first digit after WPC represents which number meeting it is, for example, this one, '**1**', is the first WPC. The number after the decimal point is... well, which part of the arc it is. This one says '.**1**' because it's the first part of the first WPC arc. That's how these are going to be organized. Simple, da? ^J^

* * *

_**World Progress Check 1.1**_

Greece stared out the window blankly with content, half-lidded eyes. He, unlike most of the current arrivals, had taken a seat immediately. That was mostly so he could turn the chair around and roll over to the windowsill with his cats, but at least he wasn't arguing or engaged in some strange, isolated hobby. Actually, no, that wasn't quite right. He _was_ engaged in his strange, isolated hobby. Unlike with most of the others, it just really hadn't changed anything. Greece was a sleepy, cat-loving, soft-spoken nation who rarely socialized, frequent sky-watching or no.

The sky that late-morning was cloudy. It wasn't the sort of cloudy that brought a blank whiteness to the sky. It was more... a large flock... of big, fluffy cloud-sheep... who were grazing... and slowly migrating... At least, that's how Greece thought of it. According to the weather station, the clouds would be drifting away to reveal clear skies once more by mid-afternoon at the latest.

That was fine by him. Greece had no particular preference for what kind of sky to watch. He wasn't picky. He enjoyed all sorts. Clear, endless expanses of the brightest, bluest blue that brought sunshine and thoughts of bike-riding. Blank, white slates that made a sleepy, dreamy sort of mood come to him. Dark, stormy skies of grey accompanied by swirling winds and crashing thunder that took him back to the days of empires. Unobstructed sunrises that breathed hope into the day. Utopian paintings of sinking suns letting steps and ladders of light form with a still, picturesque beauty. Quiet, peaceful, darkened skies of solid indigo ink and full, silver moon. Starry nights like Van Gogh had captured on canvas that glittered with mystery and sang cricket lullabies. Greece loved them all.

So it was with great reluctance that he tore his eyes from today's sheep-scattered sky and looked down at the long pathway to the building's entrance outside. Strong winds were picking up. Each and every flag of the UN was whipping proudly in the gale. And down on the walk, there were the figures of several nations with their coats and loose accessories blowing in the breeze. Greece turned his head to the side and looked at the tallest flagpole. Where the waving flag of the UN streamed in the air. It seemed to hail a coming change.

How nice. The sky would be clearing up soon.

"Hey, Greece-face!" A familiar, irritating, and accented voice grated against his ears. "Haven't seen _you_ since the last World Conference, ah!"

Inwardly, Greece face-palmed and groaned. Outwardly, he appeared as calm and placid as ever. He didn't even take his eyes away from the window to reply in his usual slow and thoughtful manner. "I... am fine. Γεια σας, Turkey... I... haven't seen you... either."

"That was an indirect insinuation, you fool!" Turkey exclaimed irritably, hands on his hips and scowl on what was visible of his face. "The whole world is supposed to be - ah... how do you say it..."

There was a moment of silence from Greece and exaggerated mumblings from Turkey. Then, the masked man clapped his hands together in sarcastically cheery realization. "Oh, yeah!" He shouted angrily. "TALKING! Why haven't you been out and about, ah?"

"I am... content." Greece replied with quiet deliberation.

Turkey didn't react for a few seconds. Then, he exploded. "You jerk! During that last meeting the big-shots all made the decision to jumpstart, ah, the world! We all agreed, ah!"

"I... did not." Greece said.

His long-time rival and frenemy kept shouting. "Ah, come on, jerk! I'd rather stick to my drum set too, but those G8 guys were right for once! You're even part of the_ EU_, ah! Why aren't you socializing or something, ah?"

"It was... the World 8."

Taken aback by confusion, Turkey mumbled. "Ah?"

Greece slowly swiveled his chair around to face the Eurasian country. The cats around him all hopped off and wandered away. With sleepy consternation, Greece elaborated. "It was the World 8... not... the G8."

"What's the difference, ah?" Turkey asked with a shrug.

His snail-paced friend answered. "China and... Canada... I think."

"Who?"

Greece ignored him, turning his head back and forth to search around the room. "What... happened to my kitties?"

Turkey groaned exasperatedly and face-palmed. He limply waved a hand towards the front of the table. "They're with Italy. Jerk."

* * *

At the front of the room, the well-known World 8 were in discussion. Strangely enough, Germany and America were the exasperated and silent onlookers. It was China, England, and France who were debating. Japan kept trying to interject his own opinion, but either England or France would start shouting at one another and he wouldn't be heard. Italy was rambling about pasta, recipes, and cooking shows while petting Greece's cats. Russia... was silently overseeing everyone in his own isolated way. He'd been very antisocial since everyone had visited his place, but no one could piece together why.

"China don't understand what point of meeting is! Useless!"

"It is not! You're just being a stubborn git who won't let go of a stupid obsession!"

"Oh, look who's talking, Sherlock!"

"Shut it, frog! And Sherlock is _not_ an insult!"

"Well, a certain _Anglais _can't seem to let go of a certain fifty-year-old franchise. You should hardly be telling China what to do."

"You both so immature!"

"Frog, you're still hiding tabloids in your briefcase!"

_Bang! Bang!_

Two blanks were fired from Switzerland's rifle straight into the air. It caught the attention of everyone in the room. The Swiss looked back and forth, glaring at each and every nation present- neutrality meant _equal_ discrimination, after all. He growled. "Stop arguing. I'm host of this meeting, so what I say goes. We are doing this quickly so that everyone can get the h*ll out of my country again." He turned his eyes to Germany. "Hurry up and start this thing already."

Everyone hurried to their seats.

Germany stayed standing. He took a few steps to the head of the table and cleared his throat loudly, not that he needed to. Everyone was paying attention. He began speaking clearly and factually. "This is a World Progress Check. We will be holding these monthly in order to monitor, maintain, and promote increase in interaction between us. Ideally to the point that we would no longer need these monthly meetings."

There came a moment's pause. Then, Germany continued. "During this first meeting, we will begin with any volunteers other than the World Eight who wish to share their progress. Following that, I, along with America, as two nations who seem to have escaped the stubborn isolation others bury themselves in, may or may not ask for reports from those who chose not to share if there is concern. We will end with a presentation from America-"

He was cut off by many resounding groans.

"-Which, surprisingly, isn't nonsense. This meeting should be very short." Germany finished.

Quiet murmurings of curiosity echoed throughout the room. For Germany to actually approve of anything America suggested was a rare occasion. The young nation in question was huffing childishly at having his presentations insulted.

Expectantly, Germany glanced around the conference hall, waiting. No one stood or raised a hand or even just started blurting things out. He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. _'Still such distance between us.' _He sighed tiredly. _'As to be expected. We have not been trying for very long. Years ago, I wouldn't have had to ask for anyone to speak, I would have had to ask for silence. Strange... I miss those days of chaos.'_

He asked. "Would anyone like to volunteer?"

No one did so. It seemed almost as if not one nation outside of their little group of world powers had made an effort. Then...

"I do!" A loud, brash voice accompanied by matching attitude came from Denmark. He stood up from his chair with a confident grin on his face. "And I got one h*ll of a story to tell!"

Germany raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms with a scowl on his face. "Does this have anything to do with your _klein_ expedition across _Europa_?"

"You bet!"

Several other European nations glared or groaned at the reminder of that series of disasters.

Normally, Germany might've ordered Denmark to sit down and not aggravate the continent anymore. But normally, he would've had several other headaches to deal with simultaneously. This time, perhaps just this time, he would do something different. "And do you speak for all of _Skandinavien_?"

At that, the other Nordics slid out of their seats as well and stood to join Denmark.

Finland said somewhat bashfully with an embarrassed smile on his face. "I think we'd all like to tell that story."

Germany nodded and sat down. With a slightly upturned mouth, he said. "Go ahead."

* * *

_They'd found Finland in Moscow, Russia. Sweden was the one who'd tracked down his "wife" to the Russian capitol somehow, with Iceland and Norway following. Iceland was currently very annoyed with his puffin. Norway remained indifferent, but the small smile on his face revealed a certain relief and happiness to be back with his best friends. Their search for the fourth member of their little family had turned up successful._

_Finland's specific location was a very unexpected one. A government building. _

_Having very high positions in their own governments and also identification as UN ambassadors, the three Nordics managed to get inside under the pretense of having urgent official business to discuss with a "Tino Väinämöinen". The receptionist had directed them to the second floor, room 201, and told them that the person they were searching for was currently waiting in the office of one "Ivan Braginsky". Quite understandably, the Nordics became concerned upon hearing that._

_They hurried up to the room and burst in to find Finland tapping a finger on the side of a fish tank._

_"F'nl'nd." Sweden mumbled, sweeping the shorter man into a quick embrace._

_Iceland and Norway surrounded the Christmas-loving nation, questions on their tongues._

_"Are you alright?"_

_"Why'd you come to **Moscow** of all places?!"_

_Finland had quickly patted Sweden on the back and then turned to face Norway and Iceland. "I'm only here because-"_

_He was interrupted by Norway's worries. "Is Russia trying to do something? He must have gotten back here by now... Where is he, anyway?"_

Chk. Chk.

_The doorknob was rattling. Someone was trying to come in. Iceland glanced all over the waiting area for something to use in defense. There was a water faucet pipe lying against the wall. He grabbed it and walked towards the door hesitantly._

_"D-don't worry Fin. We'll get you out of here."_

_The door swung open-_

Crack!

_-And the pipe swung around._

_It hit a man's side with a loud crack and several rather unfortunate noises. The man collapsed onto the floor in pain, and Iceland, upon seeing that it wasn't Russia at all, dropped the pipe in surprise. It fell heavily and bonked against the man's forehead, quite possibly giving him a concussion. The Nordics stared for a moment. Then, Finland rushed over and turned the stranger onto his back._

_"Oh, no!" He exclaimed. Finland examined the man's head as he spoke to the Nordics. "This could be a concussion... and he has broken the ribs too!" He shook his head worriedly and then met Iceland's eyes. "He's only an ambassador who was supposed to be coming to my place! I came to Moscow for work!"_

_Norway cleared his throat and said somewhat awkwardly. "We should probably leave."_

* * *

Ukraine exclaimed. "Oh! So that is what happened in Moscow! Explains much why you would sneak into my truck to get out!"

The rest of the world, who had likewise not known much about the actual diplomatic incident in the city, had their curiosity satisfied. If they had been wondering, that is. Quite a good proportion of nations in attendance didn't want to be there. Greece was among them. And then there was Russia, who was somehow sitting by himself despite China's (hesitant) company on one side and America on the other. Outwardly, he appeared as content and smiling as ever, but on the inside, he felt his heart break a little more upon hearing that Iceland would attack him so fearfully.

* * *

_Some of the rest of the journey was skimmed over. Quietly sneaking into the back of Ukraine's truck as she drove home after fixing a flat tire. Getting onto a flight to Barcelona. Norway, Iceland, and Finland's wanderings through Barcelona as Sweden accessed the internet from a library in hopes of catching a whiff of Denmark's trail._

_And then they'd come to Spain's house on the outskirts of the city. The nation was picking tomatoes in his backyard garden as the three Nordics walked by._

_"Hola, mis amigos nórdicos!" The cheery country waved, smiling. "Ustedes no visitan muy a menudo. Qué les trae por aquí?"_

_They stared at him somewhat blankly. Norway tentatively tried to reply. "Eh... Estamos busciendo... Dinamarco?"_

_Spain chuckled. "Fusososo!" He waved the clipped and grammatically incorrect Spanish off. "You don't have to use my language! But I really appreciate the esfuerzo."_

_From behind him, Spain's pet bull began approaching. The Nordics found it rather strange that Spain had a pet bull, and were more focused on the animal than the nation. Suddenly, Mr. Puffin squawked._

_"F*ck you, deadbeat! Beef-b*stard's sleepin' with the fishes tonight!"_

_The bull seemed to understand the bird, and its hoof pawed the ground angrily. It lowered its head to charge, and snorted loudly. "Tr-r-rf. Tr-r-rf."_

_"Hm?" Spain became confused when the three Nordics suddenly paled and turned tail, fleeing as if their lives depended on it. Only the long trail of dust left behind showed that they'd stood just beyond his fence a moment ago. The Spaniard scratched his head, bewildered. "Ay. Muy rápido. They ran faster than an Italiano."_

_Then, his bull charged past, breaking the wooden fence and running after the Nordics. Right into the city. "¡Ayayay! Mi tauro!"_

* * *

Spain had actually spoken up and finished that part of the tale. It actually made a few listening countries laugh. Romano in particular seemed to find the story very amusing. "Hah! Stupid tomato-b*stard." He smirked.

* * *

_After the Nordics found Sweden at the library and escaped Barcelona, they made their way into France. Wearing incredibly conspicuous and baggy disguises, they wandered the streets of a small town in southern France. There they ran into, who would've guessed, France._

_"Bonjour, nordiques!" The Frenchman swaggered over to them from across the street. He leered, asking. "I've heard of your _situation difficile _with _la police espagnole. _I am willing to offer assistance if-"  
_

_"Get us outta the country and you can join us." Iceland interrupted._

_The other Nordics looked at him disapprovingly. France was never good company when running from the law. However, they did need the help._

_"_Magnifique_!" _

* * *

America snorted with amusement. "That's seriously how France joined?!" He laughed. "Hahaha!"

* * *

_Rampage across northern Italy. Many stores had their wares damaged and France actually managed to blow out the electrical grid of an entire town._

* * *

"Ve~..."

* * *

_Crossing the border into Austria was very simple. They stole a car. In Vienna, France spotted Austria in a quaint little cafe and promptly decided that the stuffy aristocrat needed to come with them on their law-breaking spree. Grabbing him was easy, because the man honestly didn't seem to be capable of fighting back without an instrument in hand. _

_And so, hijacking another car, the Nordics plus two drove to the airport and snuck into the cargo hold of a passenger plane. They didn't know where it was headed, but as long as it got them away from la policía española and la polizia italiana they didn't particularly care. Besides Austria, but he didn't count._

* * *

"Excuse me!" Austria was indignant. He glared at France and the Nordics, huffing. "I was kidnapped! I do believe that that counts!"

He was ignored as the story's retelling continued. At this point, some of the world was actually a little bit interested, if only because it was always funny to hear about the crap Europe got itself into.

Sweden mumbled. "I t'nk t's A'str'as t'rn."

"What?" The musician was incredulous. "But I didn't even _want_ to be part of this scandal!"

Germany, surprisingly, said. "You're telling your part of the story, and that is that. It encourages the rest of the world to be more vocal." Then, to himself, he said. "_Mein Gott_, I never thought I'd ever say that."

* * *

_In Munich, Austria simply walked away while France was distracted by passing women and the Nordics were in another library trying to find Denmark somewhere on the internet._

_While trying to find his way back to the airport, he got lost. A nearby bookstore advertised free computer and internet access to customers, so Austria thought that getting a message to Germany or Hungary to come pick him up would be a good solution. He walked inside and made his way to a bank of computer screens. The store was largely empty of customers. He sat down opened a browser. _

_Then, while moving the mouse, its wire got tangled in the computer screen's and the keyboard's. Frustratedly trying to separate the wires, Austria managed to knock the entire thing off the table and onto the floor. The sleepy manager woke up then, and angrily stomped over to the aristocrat, who was trying his best not to be seen._

_The manager of the store was a large man who smoked a lot, and a burning cigarette dangled between his fingers. While the man was shouting at Austria and Austria was tuning him out, the musician plucked the burning stick out of his fingers and berated him out of some bizarre habit. "This is very very bad for you, you ought to know!"_

_He carelessly tossed it away, forgetting for a moment that he was in a **highly flammable** bookstore. And so the old, dry shelves and old, dry books went up in flames._

* * *

Germany growled. "The damage is still being cleaned up. _Schwachkopf_."

Nervously, Austria didn't meet his eyes and suddenly found the grain of the table fascinating. And as the tale wore on, more and more of the nations present seemed to lose interest and returned to chatting with each other, or, in most cases, isolating themselves.

* * *

_While escaping the fire that was consuming a large portion of the market, Austria suddenly found himself handcuffed by a German policeman. He was roughly shoved into the back of a police vehicle. And saw France already there._

_"Do I **want** to know?" The musician asked derisively._

_Following that, long-story short, they were interrogated (Austria telling them everything he knew without even being prompted). The Spanish and Italian police forces that had been chasing the Nordics through Europe arrived, and-_

* * *

Suddenly, Finland cut the story off. Embarrassedly, he said. "Actually, maybe we should stop the story here. The rest of it was all reported on in a lot of detail."

"What?!" Denmark exclaimed. "But we haven't even gotten to _me_ yet!"

England muttered to himself. "Or how you even got to London in a mainland car chase."

"We'd rather not continue." Norway discouragingly said to Germany, who wore an unreadable expression.

Germany sighed tiredly. "I won't force you."

The Nordics nodded to his acknowledgement and returned to their seats- Norway dragging Denmark back by the tie. Once they were all in their chairs once more, Germany stood and examined the room. Hardly anyone was paying attention anymore. Not even most of the G8. Of course, years ago, the meeting would've been in chaos and still no one would've been listening- but back then, everyone would've been fully interested in hearing all about the destruction the Nordics and wreaked over Europe. And the Nordics themselves, despite being somewhat secluded by nature, would've been wholly glad to share the tale. Not anymore, it seemed. No one looked beyond themselves.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen... and they didn't even have anything to blame. They were distant, they were isolated, and they didn't want to be otherwise. All of it their own fault.

"Would anyone else like to speak?" Germany asked the congregation.

No one replied.

"Hn..." He sighed again. Germany glanced at America, who was very eagerly awaiting his presentation. "America... _Sie an der Reihe_. I don't think we're getting anything else done today."

"Huh?" The American was slightly confused. "But I thought we were gonna have more reports first."

"Look around." Germany swept an arm at the room. "No one is going to go. Not even the rest of the _Welt Acht _is willing."

America frowned for a moment as he glanced at everyone else. It truly seemed that way. Even Canada was busy eating... was that maple syrup candy? China was lost in his music. Japan was glancing back and forth between the doodles on his paper and Germany. Italy seemed to be paying attention, but at the same time he could easily just be petting the cat in his arms. England was watching a rerun of Doctor Who on his phone. France had pulled several magazines out of his briefcase. Russia... was staring blankly ahead.

Germany grumbled. "No one wishes to _try_ anymore."

"Dude, no worries!" America gave him a Hollywood-grin and flashed a confident thumbs-up. "My plan's gonna bring the whole world together! All we gotta do is get everyone to agree! And we already got a whole bunch of the important guys. The Hero will unite the Earth!"

As he made his way to the podium and began setting up a presentation from a laptop, Germany looked at the conference hall once again. He saw many things. None of them good signs. Petty squabbles that were only half-hearted. Blatant disregard for every person not referred to as 'me'. Quiet contentment in isolation. Scowls and cold atmosphere.

Germany thought to himself. _'Not likely...'_

* * *

**AN: **God, this chapter was boring to write. I feel like I was just rehashing everything. :( Good news is, once you've hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up! :) Next chapter HAS to be better. And also, the scheme with all the signed documents will be revealed next chapter too. It's not overly exciting, but I like to think it'll be interesting.

Please review!


	16. WPC 12

**AN:** The second (and hopefully much more interesting) part of the first 'World Progress Check' arc. Freaks, geeks, and fans of all ages, enjoy!

* * *

_**WPC 1.2**_

A projector lit up and shone its light onto a blank, white, pull-down screen at the front of the room. It showed a rectangle of solid blue. A click of a button on a hand-held remote, and then the United Nations globe-like symbol appeared in white at the center. Most nations in the room stared at it blankly, very bored with the short meeting already, despite the Nordics' interesting tale of their adventures. However, America's presentation of... something... was supposed to be the very last thing they had to put up with before going home, and so they impatiently waited it through.

_Click._

The words "Awesome Idea by America" appeared in black text underneath the UN logo.

Several nations groaned. Just another unrealistic, ridiculous, air-headed presentation by one of the most unrealistic, ridiculous, and air-headed countries around.

_Click._

The screen blanked.

America, excited and eager to share, began shouting. "Alright! Dudes, this is gonna be the best idea I've had since the moon landing!"

Most of the world was skeptical and scowling, but strangely enough several nations seemed seriously interested. The G8, China, the Nordics, Australia, and several others were included.

_Click._

Fuzzy pictures appeared, each one overlapping another. France reading a magazine while strolling through traffic. Italy completely absorbed in a cooking show while Romano obsessively swept the floor in the background. Spain in the middle of a thunderstorm, weeding his garden. Giant warehouse shelves stocked with maple syrup. Japan... was he cosplaying Switzerland? At an anime convention?

The host of the meeting suddenly felt strangely disturbed by Japan, who was three seats away and red-faced. He subconsciously put a hand on the butt of his rifle. Liechtenstein, next to him, tilted her head in a bewildered manner.

_Click._

More pictures. China at a rock concert. England with red, sleepless eyes, pale skin, mussed hair, and a green comforter blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a DVD case clutched in his hands. Belarus setting a pink cake with the words 'Marry me' frosted on it next to half a dozen identical cakes. Sweden playing _Minecraft_. Japan looking much like England did, only with a different DVD case in his grip. Hong Kong in a desert-like setting proudly standing next to the biggest d*mn firework anyone had ever seen. Seriously, there were ICBMs smaller than that thing.

"These," America began semi-factually and semi-teasingly. "Are some of a whole lotta things I've seen you guys wrapped up in. Since we hardly hang out anymore, and we're always-"

China suddenly interrupted, slapping a hand against the table. "What the h*ll Hong Kong doing with that thing?!"

"Teacher, I made it." Hong Kong spoke quietly.

China waved him off. "Not now, Hong Kong!" Then, the words registered. He rounded on his younger brother in shock. "A-aru? You... _make_ giant firecracker?"

Hong Kong nodded.

Rather unhelpfully, America interjected. "It was a firework, actually. Dude tested it out in New Mexico! Freaking awesome, and also freaking freaky. 'Cause I watched him make that thing outta a kitchen and duct tape."

Germany cleared his throat irritably. "Ah-hem." He pointed out. "I believe there is a presentation going on. _Yours_, America."

"Right!" America laughed. "AHAHA-HAHA!"

Romano groaned. "Get on with it, burger-b*stard."

_Click._

The screen changed once again, this time to show a much clearer photograph that was very easily recognizable. The flags of the UN, waving proudly right outside the windows.

"So, basically," America said, "We're gonna have a great big culture festival! Everyone can have a booth, even the guys who aren't in the UN, and we'll pick a city to have it in, and we can all get out and get along for that. It's a win-win! Lots of us already agreed!"

_Click._

Pictures of signatures took up the next slide.

_Francis Bonnefoy_

_Ludwig Beilschmidt_

_Feliciano Vargas_

_Berwald Oxenstierna_

_Lukas Bondevik_

_Mathis Køler _

_Emil Stelision_

_Tino Väinämöinen_

_Yao Wang_

_Arthur Kirkland_

_Toris Laurinaitis_

_Eduard von Bock_

_Raivis Galante_

_Kiku Honda_

_Roderich Edelstein_

"Who's up for it?" America asked, eagerly looking about the room.

He expected nods and cheers and chatter. What he got were mostly dismissive responses. Greece was fast asleep. Turkey was ignoring the presentation and prodding Greece. Romano was shouting at his brother for signing something that could involve both of them without telling him. Spain was nodding along, but whether that was because he actually agreed or because he was spacing out was up to debate. Egypt was watching Greece and Turkey. Everyone else wore nearly identical expressions of doubt, annoyance, and impatience that all read the same thing. _No._

"Huh? Huh?" America kept waiting obliviously for agreement.

It was England who stepped up and whispered in his ear. "America... no one else likes the idea."

"What?" The younger nation was upset now. "But... isn't it a great idea?"

Germany grunted an affirmative. "For once, _ja_. But I think we revealed it too early. No one wishes to work together."

"Actually," Spain strode up to the front of the room and tapped Germany on the shoulder. Happily, he said. "I'm interested. Where do I sign, _mis amigos_?"

France handed the cheery European country one of many copies of a document, and Spain signed it eagerly. The Spaniard then rolled it up and handed it back to France. To the entire group of supporters, he said. "If you ever get everyone else in on this, call me." He picked up his bag and began walking towards the door. "_Hasta la vista_!"

As soon as the general population of the conference room realized that Spain had left without consequence, they too packed up and migrated towards the doors. It was silent and surreal in the silence, simply because World Meetings weren't _meant_ to be silent. Not long after, it was only the World Eight remaining in that room. And Canada, but no one noticed him.

"I..." America looked downcast. "I really thought that would work..."

Germany clapped his hands together to gather everyone's attention. "Because we don't have enough nations in agreement to go ahead with this plan, we'll have to put it on hold. If we ever collect enough signatures, then we'll go through with it. Understood?"

There were nods and groans of agreement. And then, soon enough, they left as well.

* * *

Outside the building, there was a considerably sized crowd of reporters mobbing everyone exiting. How they'd even been allowed to get that close was a mystery. Germany shoved his way to the front, past nervous and terrified nations doing their very best to avoid attention.

He bellowed. "Enough!"

The reporters stopped jostling.

Germany sternly ordered. "Get out of the way and let us pass. Now, before you get arrested. We already stated that we would not answer any more questions, so please, just _go_."

Disappointedly, they cleared the way for the representatives to pass. Heaving great sighs of relief, the nations began to walk away. The reporters mumbled amongst themselves. Germany stayed back to watch the vultures while everyone else went ahead. And then, just when he thought they were all in the clear, one of the reporters pointed to the Nordics at the back and said. "Hey, aren't those the Nordic guys from last week?"

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**AN: **I am bitterly disappointed in myself for this chapter. But, in other news, because school's starting up soon, I'm not gonna have as much time as I did before to work on this. _International_ will be continued, but updates will come much less frequently. Maybe once every few weeks or once a month. Somewhere around that. Please review!


	17. Nordic Interview

**AN: **A chapter that despite its simplicity and shortness took me forever to write. I blame my first year of high school, which so far amounts to a lot of geometry homework. -.-' Many thanks go out to **Yin Yang Sparkle**, the driving force behind these characterizations of the Nordics! :) I'm sorry for the wait, but I greatly hope you all enjoy! But man, not even a thousand words... I think my quality of writing has gone down. :(

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_**Nordic Interview**_

Five people sat behind a rectangular table, microphones in front of them and notebooks in their laps. The Icelander wore a flat expression, but had a nervous twitch in his left eye. The Norwegian was unreadably staring down the crowd of reporters down past the stage. The Finn was smiling and trying to make a calm impression. The Dane was confidently smirking towards no one in particular, he just seemed arrogant. And then, there was the Swede who was intimidating an entire swath of reporters into silence without even knowing it.

To left stage, there was a very irritated German hidden behind the cardboard barrier of a large poster. He was glaring at the five sitting at the table. Why, oh why did it have to be him to manage the d*mn press conference? He could've been drinking with the others right now. Tiredly, he sighed and then growled into his headset. "Begin the press conference. _Now_, before I get my revenge for Munich."

"Okay!" Denmark clapped his hands together and snatched his microphone from its small stand. "So, who's got questions for us?"

The reporters jostled each other and raised their hands, shouting and calling out. Except for a quarter of them on the far right, who were facing Sweden and completely silent under his gaze.

Finally, one of them broke away from the crowd and asked. "What everyone wants to know is; why aren't you in prison?"

Denmark was about to answer, but then his microphone was snatched away from him by Norway, who gave him a warning glare. Norway turned back to the ravenous crowd and said. "We are paying for all the damages caused, and the Moscow incident was never actually our doing. There is no longer anything to arrest us for."

"So it _was_ your fault in Barcelona?" A Spanish-accented voice called out.

Norway spoke again, cautiously and deliberately. "Yes, we freely admit to having been present and semi-accountable for the first part of the incident in Barcelona. A complicated series of events spiraled out of our control."

The crowd rumbled like a volcano.

"Are you saying you purposely let the Barcelona Bull Barge happen?"

"Why did you start this chain of destruction through the EU?"

"Who stole the jeep in Munich?"

"Forget that, who really started the fire in Berlin?"

Finland tried to quell their questions, smiling nervously and saying. "Ah, we're just trying to explain that we're uh..."

"It was all a big mess, but we've sorted it out." Iceland interrupted.

Denmark snatched Norway's microphone, since his had been taken, and moved the interview along. "Okay, any questions for one of us, specifically? C'mon, I'll take anything he- ack!"

He was cut off. Choked, by his own tie. Well, choked by his own tie being yanked by an irritated Norway.

After a moment, he gasped into the microphone. "I'm- sorry - we - aren't... -taking... personal questions."

Norway released his grip and Denmark deadly flopped backwards into his chair. The Norwegian said. "Let's continue."

From sidestage, Germany gave an unnoticed, approving nod.

"Who cleared you to be released?" A random reporter shouted.

Iceland answered that one. "It was a joint effort from several governments and other members of the UN. Once our branch's web page is complete and available for public viewing, a full list will be there."

One brave reporter stepped out of the bunch and looked directly at Sweden. She gulped and then asked. "R-regarding this future branch web p-page... um... w-when will it be up?"

"I's 'n t' w'rks..." He responded slowly, eyes shadowed by the rim of his hat. "Pr'bly in t' or... three..." He trailed off. Which was really just as well. The reporters were thoroughly confused by and frightened of the mumbling giant, and completely willing to move on.

"N-next question, _juu_?" Finland stuttered nervously into his microphone.

Some asked. "Are these answers rehearsed? They're all kinda vague."

Finland, his mind blanking, responded. "Well, yes, but that's j-just because what really happened is very complicated and a little secret, so- oh, I wasn't supposed to say that!"

Germany shouted. "_Gott_, you've done it now!"

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**AN: **I think I might leave International alone for a little bit until I can turn out a decent chapter. -.- Apologies to all my readers.


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